The Pains of Being Sam Winchester
by LaylaBinx
Summary: AKA: "How Can I Beat The Crap Out of Sam This Week" Lots and lots of hurt!/limp!/sick!/physically! and emotionally! injured Sam! And plenty of caring!/worried!/awesome! Big Brother Dean! Touches of Super dad! John and a few other pairings! :D
1. School Fight

**Hello all!! This is the first of a new series of one-shots I'll be working on :D I needed some serious hurt Sam in my life and there were too many one-shots floating around in my head so I decided to combine them all! Yay!! None of them are in chronological order though so some will be when Sam is little, others will be teen, others will be present, it just depends on when the muse strikes :D Hope you like the first chapter!! :D**

**I own nothing!! =(**

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"Mr. Andrews?"

He hesitated, not sure if he should reply to the chosen surname at first. "Yes?" He asked finally, curiosity getting the best of him. Not only had the past few years caused him to become overly cautious, the fact that someone had managed to track down the hotel number and call their room was a little strange.

"Hi, this is Cathy Morrow, I'm the assistant principal at Woodard Elementary. I was calling on behalf of your son, Sam."

John felt a tightening in his chest, a vise closing around his heart instantly. "Is there something wrong?" He asked carefully, mentally preparing himself for any answer the woman on the other line was about to give him. He'd spent the better part of five years mentally preparing himself for pretty much anything else life decided to throw at him.

There was a was a very brief pause before she continued. "Well, your son got into a bit of a scuffle at recess this afternoon and had to be removed from the playground by one of the teachers. It became pretty physical."

John blinked. It wasn't the news he'd been expecting. Of his two boys, Dean was more of the fighter, Sam usually remained the pacifist. "Uh...I understand. Did he say what caused the fight?" He asked, still trying to wrap his mind around the idea of his five year old son getting into an all out fist fight on a playground.

He could nearly hear Mrs. Morrow shake her head. "No, by the time the teacher got out there one boy had a black eye and the other one had some mild bruising. Mr. Andrews, this is a very serious offense and, while I understand your...difficult home life, I'm afraid this cannot be permitted in our school."

John clenched his jaw. 'Difficult' wasn't anywhere close to the word he wanted to use. Seeing your wife pinned to the ceiling above your child's crib isn't difficult; its downright terrifying. He'd told the administrators at the school that the boy's mother had been involved in a car accident five years ago and that they were still trying to cope with the loss. He'd been trying his best to keep the boys stable but it was harder than it looked when they usually only stayed in one state for a few weeks, possibly a month at a time. Maybe this was Sam's way of finally lashing out. "I understand." He repeated, already reaching for the keys on the bedside table.

"I'm afraid Sam is suspended for the rest of the week. Would it be possible for you to come pick him up now?"

John nodded though he knew she couldn't see him. "Sure, I'm on my way." The phone fell back into its cradle and John turned to make his way to the door.

"Dad?" A drowsy voice asked from his right. John paused momentarily to see Dean sit up from the bed. "What's wrong?"

He'd kept Dean home from school on account of the the fever he'd been running the night before that hadn't quite broken yet. Ah well, that's what happens in public school; they're a breeding ground for every germ and virus imaginable. "Nothings wrong, Sammy just got into some trouble at school." He answered his eldest, trying to keep the conversation as brief as possible so Dean would go back to sleep. The boy had tossed and turned all night and had only just fallen asleep about three hours ago.

However, in spite of the fever that clogged his sense, Dean sat up straighter, green eyes narrowing. "Is he okay?"

John smiled. Ever since their mother's death Dean had become super protective of his little brother and had taken it upon himself to take care of the younger boy when John was away. "Yeah, kiddo, he's fine. Try to get some more sleep, I'll be back in a bit, okay?"

Dean hesitated, seeming to weigh his options.

"Dean." John said, but this time there was a warning in his voice. "Go back to sleep, I mean it."

"Yes sir..." He muttered, falling back onto the stiff mattress and watching as his father walked out and locked the door behind him.

**OOOOO**

Meeting with Sam's principal for the second time in under a month wasn't something John had anticipated and if he had, he would have made sure to shower today. Mrs. Howell wasn't the kind of woman who took things lightly and obviously seeing the senior Winchester was doing nothing to improve her mood. She regarded him with sharp, steel-colored eyes and hair to match. "Mr. Andrews, we have a strict no fighting policy at our school. I hope you understand what this means." She said in a clipped tone as John approached.

"Yes ma'am." It wasn't the first response on his mind but he stuck with it.

Mrs. Howell nodded briskly and turned on her heel, leading him down a hallway covered in hand-painted posters to a small closed office. She opened the door to reveal a very dirty, very ashamed Sam Winchester. "Sam, your father is here to pick you up." She announced to the abashed five-year-old. Sam looked up briefly to meet his father's gaze and looked right back down.

Something was bothering him, John knew it. "Come on, son. Time to go home." He said, keeping his voice as stern and strict as he could. Sam visibly flinched but stood slowly, grabbing his bag and taking a few steps forward.

"What do you say?" John asked, nodding in Mrs. Howell's direction.

Sam stopped and turned, his eyes never leaving the floor. "I'm sorry Mrs. Howell." He said softly, voice shaking slightly.

Mrs. Howell nodded slightly and looked up at the boy's father. "He can return to school next Monday. No sooner." And with that the conversation was over.

John placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and carefully steered him through the lobby of the school and back out into the parking lot. The five-year-old didn't speak the entire time, his shaggy hair falling over his face and covering his eyes. John watched as he got into the car and then walked around to the driver's side, sliding in next to him. They pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto the street, the heavy silence never breaking.

After about five more minutes, John finally looked over at his still silent son and let out a breath. "Well...? Feel like explaining yourself?"

"Dad...I'm sorry..." Sam said, refusing to meet his father's gaze.

"'Sorry?' Well, 'sorry' got you suspended from school for the rest of the week. Do you think that makes it better?" He couldn't help sharpness in his voice; he was worried and when he worried he tended to sound angry. Finally, he sighed and tried again. "Sam, tell me what happened."

Sam was silent for a second longer before finally lifting his eyes to meet his father's. His lip was busted and swollen and there was a dark bruise forming above his left eye. John silently cursed in his head. "Some of the older kids were saying some mean things at recess and one of them hit me..."

"One of them hit you?!" John nearly shouted, rounding to face his son. "Why?!"

The boy shrugged slightly and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I dunno..." He sniffled, unshed tears shining in his eyes. "He just did..."

"Is that why you hit him back?" John asked, wondering if the tears were from the fight or from some unknown injury Sam was hiding.

Sam nodded slowly, sniffing quietly. "Uh-huh..."

John sighed again. At least it was self-defense and Sam didn't provoke it. "Okay, so you hit him..."

"After I kicked him..."

"You kicked him?"

"And hit him with a stick..."

"...You hit him...with a stick...?"

Sam nodded again, looking back down.

John didn't know whether to laugh or be mad. "Sam, what did those kids say that made you so mad?"

Sam looked down again, more tears filling his eyes.

"Sam, I'm not going to ask again."

"Dad..." The little boy's voice cracked. "Did mom leave because she didn't like us anymore...?"

John nearly wrecked the car; this was completely not the question he's been expecting. "What?"

Sam turned to face him, hazel eyes glistening with tears. "Those boys said..." He sniffed, unable to keep the tears at bay any longer as they slid down his face. "They said that the reason I don't have a mom is because she didn't love me and left..." His thin shoulders hitched faintly as he tried to hold in the tears. "Is that why mom's gone?"

John felt a cold weight settle in his chest and for a second it felt like he couldn't breathe. "Sammy..." He started, but the words wouldn't come out. Sam knew his mother was gone but John and Dean had tried to keep the word "death" out of their vocabulary for his sake until he was a little older. He'd told Sam their mother had gone to a better place and left it as vague as that, no more details than necessary. He figured it was enough but it obviously wasn't. The car pulled off to the side of the road and John shifted into park. "C'mere..." He said, opening his arms for the little boy.

Sam wasted no time in sliding across the seat into his father's arms and burying his face in his shoulder. He sniffled a few more times, hands twisting the fabric of his father's shirt into tiny knots.

"Sammy, your mother loved you more than you can ever know." He said quietly, rubbing the little boy's back gently as he spoke. "You boys were her life; she would do anything for you." 'Even die for you' he thought bitterly, pushing the image of his beautiful Mary pinned to the ceiling out of his mind. "But sometimes, really bad things happen to really good people and they can never come back. That's what happened to your mom, Sammy. She didn't leave because she wanted to, she left because she had no other choice." He felt like he was explaining why the boy's mother had run off to Mexico when in reality she was six feet under in some cemetery he couldn't bring himself to remember the name of.

He sat back, cupping the boy's face in his hands and gently brushing the tears away with his thumb. "Don't ever for a second think your mother didn't love you, okay? Nothing could be further from the truth." There was another hitched sob from Sam and he hid his face again in his father's shirt.

John was silent for a long time, content to simply hold his son and offer what little comfort he could. He'd been pushing the boys really hard lately; that was probably why Dean had gotten sick so easily and Sam had lashed out. He often forgot how young his sons really were, the way he would train them for hunts and teach them spells and incantations while they were on car trips. Hell, he'd even started showing Sammy how to clean a gun (bullets out and safely secured in his pocket, mind you) and the kid was barely five years old. Sometimes, being a kid was what mattered and right now he needed to be a father. "S'okay Sammy..." He said, carding his fingers through the little boy's hair. "I gotcha...I gotcha..."

**OOOOO**

Much to his dismay, John found Dean sitting up watching TV when they walked in a little while later. He thought about scolding him but knew it was going to happen either way so it was a moot point. Dean stood when he saw Sam walk in, keen eyes scanning his small frame carefully. He was doing a mental checklist in his head for any external injuries; internal would come later. Finally, he walked over to his little brother, fingers gently brushing over the bruises and busted lip, and smiled. "Cool battle scars, dude." He said, ruffling the little boy's hair affectionately. Sam smiled at the contact and the compliment and followed his brother back into the hotel room, falling on the bed next to him.

John watched the two go a smiled to himself. They would be fine, he was sure of it. Even though Mary was gone now, as long as the boys had each other they would be fine.

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**Soo?? Was it okay?? Sorry, I needed some awesome father! John in my life too so this had to be written :D Sorry if he was OOC O.o Hope you liked it!! :D**


	2. Roofie

**Hello all!! Hehe, this was fun idea to work with; the idea of Sammy being roofied makes me laugh =D Okay, so a couple of quick notes about this chapter: 1) This is the first of three Sammy-drinking-one-shots. I had three seperate ideas for Sam involving alcohol and this just happened to come first. 2) I used to work in a bar so. while I know this kind of stuff happens, its not a blatant as the way I'm describing it. Most of the time date-rape drugs are used at parties, not bars, but oh well. Just used it to make the storyline progress. I've never been drugged (thank God O.o) so I'm guessing with a lot of this but hopefully its not too bad :D**

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The bar was crowded this time of night, a steady stream of college students and co-eds flowing in from the nearby campus. Some kind of loud, irritating music was blasting over the speaker system set up along the walls but luckily no one seemed to pay it much attention. A few thread-bare pool tables lined the back wall and a set of dart boards were tacked onto the opposite wall, tiny holes freckling the wood along either side from a few not-so-great throws.

There were at least four bartenders behind the bar, each one mixing and serving drinks as fast as they got the orders. The air was heavy with the smell of liquor and smoke; a classic bar scent. A few televisions were propped up against the walls, each one tuned to a different channel displaying a different ball game. As one team would score a point, a few of the patrons coherent enough to pay attention to the flickering screens would cheer and holler for their preferred team.

Sam shifted slightly on his bar stool, glancing around the room. Dean was off somewhere in the back room, trying to pool shark his way into some money before the night was over. Their last hunt had taken them to a college campus, a typical haunting in one of the wings that had turned particularly violent over the past few days. The clean up was easy but the drive here and the cost of the seedy motel they were staying in had nearly depleted all of their funds.

Sam could occasionally here his brother make some kind of smart ass remark, riling up the frat guys he was playing against. He just hoped he wouldn't say anything too stupid and get into another fight. That had happened the night before last and it hadn't ended very-

"Hey there, cutie." A silky voice said from behind him, a slender hand resting on his shoulder as he turned around. The girl was a knock-out; long, dark hair cascading over one shoulder and deep green eyes. She was wearing a red tank top and jeans that outlined her curves perfectly. Sam couldn't help but smile. "My drinking buddy left me to go play a game of pool. Wanna keep me company until she gets back?"

Sam smiled again and turned to face her fully. He wasn't nearly the charmer his brother was but he had a few moves of his own. "What can I get you?" He asked, standing and offering the girl his seat.

She grinned brilliantly at him and slid onto to the bar stool, her leg brushing ridiculously close to his personal affairs. Her knee stopped right against his front pocket. "Vodka Collins." She winked, the words coming out like an invitation.

The younger Winchester chuckled and nodded. "One Vodka Collins it is." He said, motioning toward the bartender. He wasn't used to this much blatant attention from such an attractive woman but it didn't mean he was going to turn it down. The bartender appeared a few seconds later and took their drink orders, disappearing behind the bar again. He returned after another brief moment and set their drinks on the counter, taking the $10 Sam offered him. The change was returned and Sam dropped a dollar into the tip jar. He had roughly $60 on him which was about $60 more than Dean had. The fraudulent credit cards lasted for a while but eventually cold hard cash was needed. He slipped his wallet back into his pocket and turned back to the girl.

She flashed him the same brilliant grin and accepted the drink. "So, you're new here. What brings a serious piece of guy-candy like you to a place like this?"

Sam laughed lightly at her description and took a sip of his beer. "My brother and I were in the area visiting a friend. Decided to stop by a take in the night life." It was a lie but then again so was most of what he'd told everyone they'd met this week. The girl nodded and grinned and listened as he rattled on with the fake story they'd made up about their friend "Ted". In a place like this there was bound to be at least on Ted so the lie seemed more feasible.

Sam faded off as his brother rounded the corner, grinning from ear to ear and holding a wad of cash in his hand. "Dude, we should come here once a week to clean house." He laughed, walking over and clapping a hand on Sam's shoulder. He seemed to finally take note of the girl sitting next to him and let out a low whistle. "Wow, sorry to interrupt." He laughed, giving the girl a gracious double-take which she seemed to enjoy as much as he did. Grabbing a handful of his brother's shirt, Dean hauled Sam off the bar stool and pulled him away a bit. "Excuse us for just one second." He said, winking at the girl.

He pulled Sam a few feet away from the bar and glanced back over his shoulder. "How much did you pay her?" He asked, eyes roaming over the beautiful figure perched on the bar stool.

"What?" Sam asked, still somewhat stunned by his brother's sudden reappearance.

"Oh come on Sam, a girl that fine always comes with a catch."

Sam rolled his eyes and shoved Dean lightly. "Stop being such a dick. What do you want?" He asked, looking over his shoulder as well to make sure his guest was still there.

Dean chuckled and handed him the wad of money. "I need you to hold onto that for me. Those guys back there know that I won that money and I'm pretty sure they'd try to take it back in a New York second. Just keep it in your wallet and I'll see if I can rake in anymore."

Sam sighed and took the money from his older brother, slipping it into his wallet. "You decided to come over and cock-block me just so I would hold your money?"

Dean smirked. "Right, like you had a chance." He punched Sam playfully on the arm and turned, walking back to the pool tables.

Once he was gone, Sam let out a breath and returned to his prior engagements. "Sorry about that." He apologized to the beautiful young woman as he sat back down.

She smiled and waved a hand dismissively. "Its fine." She took a sip of her drink and stood slowly. "I'll be right back, the ladies room is calling." She winked and brushed her fingers over Sam's shoulder as she passed, the scent of her perfume lingering for a few seconds after she was gone.

Sam shook his head, still reeling from the surprise of her approaching him out of everyone in the bar, and just smiled. He took another sip of his beer and turned toward one of the televisions, half-heartedly watching the baseball game that was being displayed. They would be back on the road tomorrow, another hunt somewhere out west this time. They had been much busier than usual lately, something he wasn't sure he could pin point at the moment. He watched the game for a few minutes, growing increasingly bored with the overall process. He vaguely wondered where his companion had gone…

The bar stool felt like it shifted beneath him, the world tilting slightly. Sam straightened suddenly, blinking to clear his vision. Everything seemed blurry like a thin film had suddenly fallen across his eyes. He went to rub them, convinced the smoke was beginning to irritate his eyes, but his hand felt like it was made of lead. The useless limb fell back to the bar with a thud.

_Something's wrong…Something's wrong…_He mumbled over and over in his head, trying to find a better way to verbalize that thought process. He felt like he had cotton shoved in his ears, the room sounding congested and muffled. Dark spots crowded his vision, swimming and contorting like ink blots on a page. _The beer…_He realized with a start, suddenly pissed that he'd let his guard down so low. He tried to stand but gravity prevented that with one fell swoop. He tumbled back onto the bar stool, gripping the edge of the bar for support. He needed to get out of there, get to Dean, something, but his body refused to move.

The darkness only got darker and his finally couldn't fight it anymore as he sank into blissful oblivion.

**OOOOO**

"Sorry boys, but you're going to have to do better than that if you want any of this money back." Dean chided as he scooped up yet another pile of bills that had accumulated on the table during the game. His opponents growled and grumbled a few nasty things under their breath but seemed relatively harmless for the most part. He'd been playing for the better part of thirty minutes, wiping out every guy who challenged him. He had more than enough money but a little more could never hurt. Not only that but he was trying to give Sammy a little bit of space to work out his geeky charms. It wasn't often that a girl that fine approached his gangly younger brother so it was time to step back and see how things unfolded.

One of the bartenders appeared at the front of the pool table while he was lost in thought and began speaking to the men gathered around the table. Dean turned his attention to the man.

"Any of you know that guy in the grey shirt up front?" The bar tender asked, nodding toward the front of the bar.

Dean felt a tightness forming in his chest. "I think I might." He said, taking a step forward and leaving the pool stick on the table.

"Well, I think you need to take him home. The guy obviously can't hold his liquor." The bartender said, walking away as soon as he'd delivered his message.

Dean frowned, ignoring the teasing comments behind him. He left the table mid-game, once more ignoring the comments as he walked away. Something was wrong, Sam wasn't big on liquor but he certainly wasn't a light-weight either.

Sam was slumped against the bar, eyes closed and hair falling across his face. The stools around him were empty, obviously no one wanted to be around the drunk guy who'd passed out at the bar. Dean stopped in front of him, crouching down so he was lever with his brother's face. "Sammy? Hey Sammy, can you hear me?"

When the younger man failed to reply he had to fight back the flash of panic that seized him. Sam had seemed fine a few minutes before; what they hell could have happened? "Sam, answer me." He said a little more loudly, shaking the younger man by the shoulder. Still nothing.

Frowning, the beginnings of an idea forming in the back of his mind, Dean reached into Sam's back pocket only to find his wallet missing. "Son of a bitch…" He muttered irritably, fighting to keep from venting his frustrations on the nearest person. They had been conned; that girl wasn't after Sam, she was after an easy target with plenty of cash. Which meant she had probably drugged Sam in order to get his money.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit…" Dean mumbled, slinging one of Sam's arms over his shoulder and standing slowly. His younger brother was practically dead weight, his body hanging limply in his brother's grip. Had Dean not had a hold of him he probably would have been facedown on the floor. "Come on Sammy, no more bar fun for you tonight…" He muttered, physically dragging his unconscious little brother away from the bar and outside.

He managed to find the car easy enough, the Impala's shiny black exterior gleaming in the glow of the streetlights. Personally, Dean wanted nothing more than to track that bitch down and get his money back but he knew she was probably long gone by now. Anyone who could pull of something that smoothly with no one noticing knew how to cover their tracks. Besides, he'd managed to get at least $70 from that last game so it wasn't a complete loss…

He opened the door and gently deposited his brother into the front seat, watching as Sam slumped bonelessly sideways. With a sigh, Dean dug into his pocket and retrieved the keys. He walked around to the driver's side and slid in behind the wheel, shifting a little so Sam's head was propped in his lap. "I guess the buddy system applies double for you…" He mumbled, taking a second to check his brother's pulse and breathing just to be sure. Yep, out like a light.

Shifting into reverse, Dean backed out of the parking lot and turned onto the main road, driving back to their run down hotel.

**OOOOO**

Sam awoke slowly, his head throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He blinked up to an unfamiliar ceiling in a strange room in a strange bed. _The hell…? _He sat up quickly, a wave of dizziness accompanying the movement. It took several seconds for him to realize he was back in the hotel they had been staying in for nearly a week.

"Easy there tiger." A voice said from his left. He turned and saw Dean sitting in a chair next to the window. "You've been out for a good seven hours."

Sam frowned, raking a hand through his hair. "I was out? Why? What happened…?"

Dean couldn't keep the teasing smile off his face. "You got roofied."

"I got what…?"

"Roofied." Dean laughed and shook his head. "Dude, someone slipped you a date-rape drug."

Sam shook his head slowly. He couldn't remember anything. He remembered going to the bar last night so Dean could play pool but that was about it. "Who?"

"That chick you were gettin' cozy with last night." Dean's eyes darkened. "The bitch drugged you and stole your wallet."

Still not recalling any of that, Sam simply stared at the bed.

"Sammy? You okay?"

The younger man looked over and nodded. "Yeah I just…I don't remember any of that…Like **any** of it."

Dean shrugged. "Doesn't surprise me. Roofies are supposed to do that."

Sam nodded slowly but refused to meet his brother's eyes. He'd been careless and because of that they'd lost what little money they still had. "Dean, I'm sorry…"

His older brother just shrugged and walked over, ruffling his hair lightly. "Don't sweat it. We'll get the money somehow; hell, I could pimp you out if need be."

Sam laughed and shook his head. "Thanks…"

"What for?"

"You know, dragging me back here and everything…"

Dean laughed. "What can I say? Someone has to protect your precious virtue." He winked and leaned against the door frame. "No more drinking alone for you though."

"That's a given."

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**So was it alright?? Hope you all liked it!! :D**


	3. Tonsils

**Hey guys!! Wow, what started off as a short one-shot turned into a five page report O.o This actually did happen to a friend of mine so I'm kind of basing it off of his experience =( Poor thing. Lol, anyway, Sam is about 14 and Dean is 18 in this story. Yay teen-chesters!! :D**

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Sam winced and laid his head down on his desk, trying desperately to ignore the throbbing of his head. He'd had a headache all morning and was pretty sure a fever was accompanying the process but there was very little he could do about it. He'd taken pain killers that morning but they had yet to kick in. Besides, his head wasn't his biggest concern at the moment, it was his throat. For the past three days the back of his throat had felt like it was on fire every time he swallowed and his tonsils had swollen to the size of marbles. What had started off as a slight scratchiness in the back of his throat had turned into a full-blown acid wash by the end of the week.

He couldn't go home though. First of all he didn't have a ride considering both his father and his brother were working and second he didn't have a key. When they'd moved into the rat-trap apartment last month, the landlord had given them two keys, one for John and one for Dean. It was assumed that one of them would be around with a key if Sam ever needed it but today was different. Dean was working at a garage until 6:30 and their dad was off on a hunt and wouldn't be back until sometime tomorrow. So until the school day was over, Sam was left to his misery.

He swallowed gingerly, the back of his throat feeling like he'd been gargling broken glass and razor blades. Each breath felt like a white-hot poker was slowly scraping across the inflamed lining of his esophagus and talking did nothing but make the pain worse. He's tried telling their dad about it before he'd left but the oldest Winchester simply told him to take some pain killers and gargle with salt water; neither of which worked. Dean had given him the same advice, telling him it was just a simple sore throat and it would go away in a day or two. That was Sunday night, today was Friday and the pain had only intensified.

The bell rang for the period to end and Sam dragged himself from his chair, his head throbbing all the way up. He wanted nothing more than to be sedated so he would be out of the misery for even a few minutes. Too bad that wasn't going to happen.

"Sam? Could you come here for a second?" His math teacher asked, her brown eyes narrow with worry.

Sam shuffled over to her desk, forcing a watery smile onto his face. "Yes ma'am?"

His teacher, Mrs. Richards, frowned again as she looked him up and down. "Sam, I think you should go to the nurse. You look like you feel terrible."

_Huge understatement_ Sam thought but he nodded. "Yes ma'am. I was actually planning to go right after this period." It wasn't true but the more he thought about it, going to the nurse didn't sound like such a bad idea.

Mrs. Richards nodded and pulled out a pad of paper, scribbling a quick pass on the back side of it. "Take this and go straight down there." She handed him the paper and shook her head sadly. "I hope you feel better."

"Thank you." Sam smiled weakly and took the pass, walking out of the room and heading down the hall to the nurse's office.

**OOOOO**

If the 102 degree fever hadn't sent him home, the look on the nurse's face once she looked at his throat would have. "How you let it get this bad is beyond me." She shook her head slowly as she threw away the tongue depressor. "Your tonsils are the size of golf balls, Sam." She handed him the phone with a stern look. "Call your father and get him to take you to the doctor. You must have a signed note before you can return to class."

Sam nodded and took the phone, knowing full well he couldn't call his father. He never answered when he was on a hunt. The only other option was to call Dean and that may not work either, he was pretty sure Dean couldn't get away from work to come get him. Still, it was worth a shot. He dialed his brother's cell number and waited.

The phone rang once, twice, and then, "Yeah?" Dean answered, his voice clipped and slightly irritated.

"Dean?" Sam said, his throat protesting violently against his voice. "I think i'm sick, could you come pick me up?"

There was a brief silence and Dean sighed. "Don't really think I can right now, kiddo. I'm kind of in the middle of something."

"Dean, I'm serious. The nurse said-"

"I'm serious too, Sam. I'm busy right now." Sam could have sworn he heard a girl giggle in the back ground. "Look, try to make it through the rest of the day, okay? You'll be fine." And with that the phone clicked off and Sam was left with a dead line. He sighed and hung up the phone.

"Is he coming to get you?" The nurse asked, glancing between Sam and the phone.

Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah, he said to meet him outside." Another lie but he couldn't stay in the nurse's office for the rest of the day, he was better off walking back to the apartment and breaking in. He grabbed his back pack, taking a note from the nurse and walking out into the parking lot.

The walk home wasn't far, a couple of blocks at the most; he made it home in about thirty minutes. His lock pick set was in his back pack, ready for quick use. Sam made quick work of the door and stumbled into the dingy apartment. The room smelled like smoke and had since the day they moved it. The carpet was an odd greenish-gray color with splotches of darker stains that freckled the floor. The curtains had burn marks in them and the beds constantly smelled like beer and vomit. It was all they could afford at the moment though so it had to last until they moved on to another crappy hotel or apartment.

Sam dropped his backpack on the ground and collapsed onto the nearest bed, tangling himself up in the threadbare blanket and trying desperately to get comfortable. He tossed and turned for a good thirty minutes before he finally fell into an exhausted and restless sleep.

**OOOOO**

Dean clocked out of the garage and walked out to the parking lot, climbing into the car he'd rented from the company. The great thing about working at the garage was that they offered a car to anyone of the employees who needed it; it saved a ton on rental fees. He backed out of the parking lot and turned onto the main road, heading toward the apartment. He was worried about Sam. He felt bad for hanging up on him earlier but he had two cars in the garage at once and he almost convinced the smoking hot blond who owned the Mustang to have dinner with him. It was short lived though when the other mechanic announced that her car was finished and sent her on her way so they could get another car into the opening. Dean had a few nasty words on his mind for Frank, the other mechanic.

He frowned, remembering how Sam had been complaining about a sore throat earlier in the week as well. He wondered if it had gotten any better but, looking back on the call earlier, he doubted it.

He managed to avoid nearly all of the red lights and made it back to the apartment in record time, his Big Brother senses beginning to twinge and frazzle inside of him. Taking the stairs two at a time, he reached the door and found it unlocked. Sam was already home. He pushed the door open slowly and peaked inside, squinting through the darkness to see the curled figure on the bed. "Sammy?" He said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "You okay, Sam?"

His little brother made a soft whimpering noise from beneath his blanket shield and didn't reply.

"Hey kiddo." Dean said, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching out to touch his little brother. He could feel the heat radiating off of Sam even from under the blanket. "Sammy? Can you hear me?" He shook the younger boy gently and received a muffled moan for his efforts.

"Dean...?" Sam asked, peaking above the blankets and gazing up at his brother. His eyes were glassy with fever and his face was covered in a thin sheet of sweat.

"Jesus Sam..." Dean said, pressing his palm to the younger boy's forehead. He cursed beneath his breath and let out a low hiss; Sam was burning up. "God, I'm so sorry Sam...I should have come to get you when you called."

"S'okay...car was broken..." Sam mumbled, eyes beginning to close again slowly.

"Hey. Stay awake for me, okay? Open your eyes Sam, can you do that for me?"

Hazel eyes slide open slowly and Sam winced. "Hot..." He mumbled, swallowing audible and gritting his teeth as his saliva felt like acid trailing down his throat.

"I know, Sammy. I know..." Dean was already digging through the first aid kit next to the bed in search of a thermometer. He found one and turned it on. "Here Sam, put this under your tongue and don't bite down, okay?"

Sam nodded and obeyed, placing the thermometer in his mouth and laying back against the pillow he'd confiscated from the top of the bed. While he was waiting for the thermometer to go off, Dean pulled out his cell phone and dialed his father's number. As expected, it went straight to voice mail. "Hey dad. Listen, Sam's really sick and I think I'm going to have to take him to the hospital. Call me back when you get this." He hung up the phone just as the thermometer beeped. Looking at the numbers in the dark didn't make the read out any better. "Shit...103.7..."

Sam's eyes had closed again and he was fading off once more now that the thermometer was out of his mouth. He felt something cold suddenly pressed against his forehead and jumped, trying to push it away. "Don't touch it, Sammy." Dean said from above him as he was gently scooped from the bed and sat up. "We're going on a little trip, okay buddy? Just you and me, but you gotta stay awake alright? Its no fun if I'm the only one who gets to see everything, right?" An arm wrapped around his waist and his arm was thrown over Dean's shoulders. "Okay, ready to stand up?" Sam wanted to say no but he couldn't talk without feeling like his throat was on fire. "One...two...three..." There was a rush of movement and he was standing, slumping heavily into Dean's shoulder. "Okay, Sammy, we're going to go to the car now. You ready?"

Taking slow, steady steps, Dean managed to half-drag/half-carry Sam to the car. The stairs were an interesting part of the journey considering they nearly fell twice but the rest was pretty simple. Dean gently deposited Sam into the front seat and climbed in beside him, letting the younger man slump across the seat and lay his burning head on his lap. "Just hang on, Sammy. I'm going to get you some help..." Dean whispered, stroking the sweaty bangs from Sam's face as he shifted into drive and made his way to the nearest hospital.

**OOOOO**

Dean was left in a whirlwind following their arrival to the hospital. He'd rushed in, explaining his brother had a high fever and the next thing he knew, Sam was being placed on a stretcher, hooked up to an IV, and taken through a set of double doors that only medical staff were allowed to go through. That had been nearly an hour ago and Dean had damn near paced a hole in the floor waiting for any kind of news on his little brother. He'd tried sitting down, standing up, watching the news, nothing worked. He was worried sick and the silence wasn't helping at all.

A tall, gray-haired man appeared through the double door, his green scrubs matching the way Dean felt. "Mr. Jackson?" He said, taking note of Dean as he was the only one in the waiting room.

"Yeah, that's me." Dean said, walking over quickly. "Is Sam alright? What happened? Is everything okay?"

The doctor smiled and nodded. "Sam is going to be fine. We had to do an emergency tonsillectomy to prevent his tonsils from rupturing but he's out of surgery now and in recovery. You're welcome to go see him if you'd like."

Dean nodded, still shell-shocked that things had gotten so serious in such a short time. Sure, Sam had always had problems with his throat but it was never this bad. He followed the doctor into the recovery room and saw his little brother sleeping peacefully on the nearest bed.

"We gave him some antibiotics to control the fever but we want to keep him overnight for observation. He should be ready to go home tomorrow morning."

Dean nodded absently. "Thanks..." He cleared his throat and looked at the doctor. "Thank you so much." He shook the man's hand and smiled. The doctor returned the smile and stepped out of the room, leaving the two alone.

Dean ran a hand through his hair and took a step toward the bed, pulling a chair up and falling into it. "God, Sammy...I'm so sorry...I should have listened to you when you said you weren't feeling well." He reached out and grasped the younger boy's hand, squeezing it gently. Already, Sam's skin felt cooler to the touch, a hundred times better than it had been earlier. The younger boy was sleeping peacefully, his face relaxed and free from the pain lines that had creased it earlier. He still looked pale but it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been.

The buzz of his cell phone caused him to jump and Dean sat up, pulling the phone from his pocket. "Hello?"

"Dean?" His father's voice cut through the other line. "Where are you? Is Sam alright?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, he's fine dad. They had to remove his tonsils though."

There was a pause and John cursed silently. "Shit...we should have paid more attention..." He grumbled something to himself before continuing. "He's okay though? Are you two at the hospital?"

"Yeah, they want to keep him over night for observation but they said he should be fine."

There was a sigh of relief on the other end. "Good. Well just keep an eye on him and I'll be home as soon as I can. Call me if anything changes, alright?"

"Yes sir."

"Good." And with that the conversation ended.

Dean shoved the phone back into his pocket and sighed, looking back at Sam. "Looks like we're here for the night, Sammy." He said softly, leaning back in the chair and keeping his hand over his little brother's. Now it was time for the waiting game.

**OOOOO**

"Oh God..." A weak voice groaned from somewhere, filled with pain and rough. "Dean..."

Dean sat up quickly, not sure when he'd fallen asleep. For a second he was confused, unsure of where he was and what had happened. And then he remembered. "Sam?" He looked over and his eyes widened.

"Dean..." Sam whimpered, his face contorting in a mask of pain. "Something's wrong..."

It wasn't the fact that Sam had thrown up on himself that bothered Dean. It was the blood that was now gushing from his little brother's mouth and staining the sterilized bedsheets. "Shit!" Dean jabbed the call button and moved over so that he was sitting on the bed with Sam. "It's okay Sammy...it's okay..." He rubbed small, soothing circles into the younger man's back, trying to calm him as well as himself.

Sam was shaking, his shoulder trembling with each breath. Tears glistened in his eyes and trailed down his face, dropping onto the blood stained blankets. "Dean..." He whimpered, blood oozing from between his teeth and from the corner of his mouth.

A nurse appeared a few seconds later, her eyes widening slightly. Whatever surprise she felt was quickly masked by professionalism. "You going to be just fine." She assured him, looking between Sam and Dean. "Everything's going to be just fine."

A stretcher was wheeled in a few seconds after that and Sam was gently moved to the stretcher and wheeled down the hall, leaving Dean alone and shaken with a blood bed.

The second waiting session was worse than the first and Dean was so worried he was about to be sick him self. The same doctor approached him from the double doors and Dean strode over to meet him. "What the hell was that?!" He demanded, his anxiety getting the better of him. "You said Sam was going to be fine!"

The doctor nodded slowly and motioned for Dean to sit down. "Mr. Jackson, you're brother is going to be fine, I assure you." He began softly, talking slowly so Dean heard everything. "The antibiotics caused him to be sick to his stomach and the stomach acid dissolved the stitches we placed in the back of his throat. Now, we've replaced the stitches and given him a different dose of antibiotics to prevent nausea. This was just a fluke but it has happened before. Sam is fine, I promise you."

Dean let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and closed his eyes. "Are you sure this won't happen again?"

The doctor nodded. "Very sure. We're monitoring him carefully but the likelihood of this happening again is very slim." He stood slowly and nodded for Dean to follow him.

Sam was back in bed, a new one this time, and he had been changed into a new gown. He was asleep once more, an IV sticking out of one arm and a few electrodes placed on his chest to monitor his heart and breathing. Dean sank back into the chair that had been placed by the bed, an odd feeling of deja vu settling over him. He looked at his sleeping brother and sighed. "Man, you can't do anything half-way can you, Sammy?" He smiled and smoothed the younger man's hair back. "Don't worry, kiddo. I'll be here when you wake up."

**OOOOO**

Sam was bed-bound for the next two days, both his brother and his father hovering over him at every turn. Upon hearing about the antibiotics incident, John Winchester had nearly punched the doctor and only managed to restrain himself thanks to Sam's plead that they go. He was ordered to stay home from school for a few days in order to give his throat plenty of time to heal. It had been okay for the first few days but now it was beginning to get boring.

"Here you go, squirt." Dean said, dropping a box of Jell-o onto the bed next to Sam. "I know you can't eat a lot right now but this should tide you over for a bit."

Sam smiled; he'd been able to eat nothing but Jell-o since he left the hospital. "Dean, I'm fine. Really." His voice was hoarse and rough and it still hurt to talk but it was getting better.

"I'll tell you when you're fine." Dean teased, ruffling his brother's hair gently. "Stay in bed and I'll be home later to check on you, okay?"

Sam nodded and watched as Dean walked out, heading off to work. Their father would be home shortly so it wasn't like Sam was going to be left alone for an extended amount of time. One thing was for sure, he was going to be sick of Jell-o by the end of the week.

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**Haha, so my friend couldn't eat anything but popsicles after he got his tonsils removed and to this day he still can't stand them. =P Hope you all liked it!! :D**


	4. Drunk

**Hello all!! This is my second story in the Sam-gets-drunk arc :D The game mentioned in here is called Brass Money and it based on the Beastie Boys song by the same name. Basically you have to take a shot every time they say the word "money" which is really hard considering they say it like 74 times in a two minute song O.o I've never played it but some friends have and they say its hard as hell to do; I don't think anyone has ever succeeded. Anyway, hope you enjoy!! :D**

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Dean grumbled to himself as he slid into the driver's seat of the rented Chevy Cobalt, irritably snapping the seatbelt into place and shifting out of the parking space he'd been occupying. He wasn't in the best mood to put it mildly. Tonight was the first night in about a week and a half that he'd managed to stumble into bed before midnight and he was more than looking forward to a full night's sleep. That seemed out of the playing cards the minute he got the call from one of Sam's friends a little over ten minutes ago. Now it was two in the morning and he was driving halfway across town to pick up his drunk little brother.

Dean guessed he couldn't really be surprised that Sam was drunk, after all he had gone to a high school post-game party to celebrate the football team's win against the rival county; alcohol was sure to be involved. And he had to admit he'd had his fair share of drunken escapades when he was Sam's age but the idea of calling someone (usually his father) to come pick him up was completely out of the question. First, his father would rip him a new one and second he'd never live it down, two things he never willingly put himself through. But then again, Sam hadn't called, it had been a friend of his. Maybe something was wrong...? Dean pushed the thought from his mind and sped up slightly.

To be honest, Dean wondered how much Sam had drank to put him in the position to where someone else had to call him. Dean had seen his little brother sip beer once or twice but it was always under his watchful supervision and the promise that he wouldn't tell their father. He was pretty sure Sam hated beer for that matter so it seemed odd that he was now drunk and in need of a ride home. Oh well, all of these were questions that would have to be answered when he got there.

The house was big, plenty of room for partying high school students to spread out and drink themselves silly. The front yard was a wreck of overturned lawn chairs and beer cans and there were a few kids huddled together in little clumps here and there. Dean vaguely wondered where the hell this kid's parents were but he couldn't really judge to critically; their father was in the next town over, taking care of a poltergeist that had invaded a couple's home. He couldn't tell anyone that though so the next best line was that he was out of town.

A few scantly clad girls, possibly two or three years his junior, staggered by, casting Dean sultry glances and giggling among themselves. Part of him wanted to pursue but the other part said there was no time and he needed to get Sam. The older man cursed silently and kept walking, intent on finding Sam and dragging his drunk ass home.

The inside of the house looked a lot like the outside, littered with beer cans, plastic cups and paper plates. Loud music blared from some room but it was hard to pinpoint which one. One girl was heaving her guts up in the sink while her friend simultaneously held her hair back and continued to drink out the plastic cup she had in her other hand.

A kid about Sam's age staggered by and Dean caught him by the arm, pulling him up so he was eye level with him. "Hey, I'm looking for someone. Scrawny kid, about your height, brown hair, goes by the name of Sam. You know him?"

The teen looked slightly confused for a second before realization dawned. "Oh yeah..." He slurred, his breath reeking of alcohol. "He was in the back the last time I saw him. Dude's hammered!" The kid laughed drunkenly and stumbled as Dean let him go abruptly. He made his way to back of the house, seeing a sliding glass door half open to the well lit back yard. A plastic picnic table had been pushed up against one side of the fence and it was there that he spotted Sam, face flushed and giggling as he held a beer can. With a soft groan, Dean trudged over to the drunk younger man.

Sam looked up as he saw Dean coming and grinned brightly. "Dean!" He yelled, standing up a little too quick and tripping over the leg of the picnic table. He stumbled and caught himself on his brother's sleeves, holding on tightly. "Hey!" He laughed and threw his arms around Dean's neck, hugging him hard.

Dean froze, not entirely sure what to do. They weren't too big on the whole touchy-feely relationships in their family so for Sam to grab him in a bear hug like that was a little strange. "Nice to see you too Sammy." He said, awkwardly patting the younger man on the back.

Sam took a step back and swayed, grinning like an idiot. "You came to the party! That's cool...we were drinking."

"I can tell. Are you drunk?"

"Haha...no."

"But you've been drinking?"

"Yep."

"And you're sure you're not drunk?"

"Not completely."

Judging by the younger man's lack of balance, it was clear he'd had more than enough. "Sam, how much have you drank?"

"A lot." Sam answered almost instantly, snickering at the disgruntled look on his brother's face. "A loooot." He said again just to emphasize the point. "We played this game earlier...something about monkeys... and we were doing shots." He indicated the picnic table littered with plastic shot glasses and one passed out teenager. "See? Shots!"

"That's awesome Sammy. Come on, time to go home, alright?" Dean grabbed the back of Sam's shirt and hauled him a few feet before Sam stopped.

"Go?" Sam looked confused, a look alcohol is good at producing.

"Yeah, go." Dean sighed, not in the mood to deal with a belligerent little brother. "Because you're drunk as hell and I'm not leaving here without you."

"M'not drunk..." Sam muttered defensively, gesturing with his hand and spilling beer across his shirt. He gasped and looked appalled. "Someone poured been on my shirt...!" He muttered incredulously just before the contents of his stomach decided to make a comeback.

Dean managed to step out of the way just in time, wincing as his brother retched in the grass. "Dammit..." He muttered, looking up at the sky in silent agony. He was hoping to avoid the violently sick part of being drunk but it didn't seem possible. At this rate, it was almost certain that Sam would throw up in the rental car and Dean seriously didn't want to pay for that mess. Looking around the back yard, he found and empty grocery bag and walked over to grab it. He straightened it out and, with the careful precision of a caring big brother, looped it over Sam's ears to catch whatever remained un-thrown up.

Sam gagged and shook his head, pulling at the bag. "Looks stupid..." He muttered weakly.

"Too bad, kiddo. You're leaving that on till we're back home because if you throw up in the car I'm going to kill you." Ignoring whatever retort Sam was working on, he shrugged the doubled-over kid onto one shoulder and made his way back to the front yard and the car.

The looks the two got as they passed were priceless and Dean carefully but unceremoniously dropped Sam into the passenger seat. He slid in beside him and shifted out of the driveway, leaving the drunken party in the rear view mirror.

"When did we get a clear flashlight...?"

"That's a bottle of water Sam..."

"Oh..." Another painful gag and Sam hunched over the seat, gripping the armrest tightly.

"You okay?" Dean asked, keeping his eyes on the road but glancing over.

"I'm fantastic..." Sam groaned from the bag, squeezing his eyes closed as another wave hit him full force. "Oh my God...alcohol sucks..."

Dean allowed himself to smile. "And that's the lesson for tonight kids." He patted Sam's shoulder gently and turned into the driveway of the motel they'd been staying in. The car dragged to a stop, as did Sam's stomach, and Dean got out, walking over to the passenger side and opening the door. He caught him as Sam nearly toppled onto the pavement and hauled him up, looping one arm around his shoulders and dragging him to the door. "Come on, in we go."

The room was dark and cold, perfect sleeping conditions and for warding off the killer hang over Sam was going to have in the morning. Dean dragged his semi-lucid brother into the bathroom and dropped him into the tub.

"What're you-?" Sam started but Dean simply tossed him a washcloth.

"Shower. Sit down if you have to but you smell like beer."

"You're face smells like beer..." Sam muttered and, simply because he was drunk, Dean let it slide. He'd give him a fresh batch of hell in the morning. The shower was turned on and Dean walked into the bedroom, grabbing a change of clothes from Sam's bag and walking back into the bathroom just as the shower turned back off.

Sam stood in the shower, still completely clothed and soaking wet. He looked over as Dean walked in and shrugged. "Didn't wanna fight with clothes..." He answered to dispel the confused look on his older brother's face.

Dean rolled his eyes and set the clothes on the sink. "Strip."

"Wha-?"

"Sam, you sure as hell aren't going to bed in wet clothes and I highly doubt you could distinguish the difference between a sleeve and the top of a shirt right now so strip." He hadn't been Sam's older brother for the past sixteen years without seeing the younger man naked on at least a dozen occasions. Not something he particularly enjoyed but if it kept Sam from falling out of the tub and breaking his silly neck he'd do it.

Sam hesitated a second longer and sighed. "Man...so awkward..." He muttered, pulling off his shirt and pants and dropping them in a wet pile on the floor. With Dean's help (much to both of their dismay) he managed to wiggle his way into a pair of clean, dry clothes. "Done."

Dean nodded and grabbed him by the wrist, dragging him into the other room and pushing him onto the empty second bed. He handed him a bottle of water and turned out the bathroom light. "go to sleep Sam. Its the best thing you can do right now." He said before dropping onto his own bed and kicking off his shoes for the second time that night. He fell onto the lumpy mattress and rolled onto one side, controlling his breathing so he could hear Sam's.

The younger man shifted and tossed around for a few seconds before finally settling down. His breathing evened out and he sighed in the darkness. "Dean...?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks." And that was the last thing out of Sam's mouth as sleep took over.

"What I'm here for, kid." Dean mumbled back in return, relaxing into the mattress and falling asleep as well.

**OOOOO**

Daylight came way too early for Sam's liking and he groaned painfully as light streamed in through the windows. He felt like there was a jackhammer in his head, pounding away at the sides of his skull.

"Up and at 'em Sammy." Dean said, popping Sam on the top of the head with a pillow. "You get to clean the car today."

"Huh?"

"As payment for me not telling dad about your drunken escapade last night, you get to wash, wax, vacuum, and wipe down the inside of the car." Considering there was three weeks of filth built up in there, it would take Sam a good three hours to do it all properly.

The younger man sat up groggily and nodded, standing slowly in an attempt to fight off the pounding headache. He would do whatever Dean wanted if he promised not to tell their father. He certainly wasn't touching alcohol again anytime soon.

* * *

**Hehe, the grocery bag is actually based on a true story =P A friend of mine got drunk like this one time so we used a grocery bag to keep her from puking all over the floor. Ahh, memories. :D**


	5. Dislocated

**Hello all!! This idea popped into my head after doing the bumper cars at the carnival. See, inspiration really does strike anywhere lol. Hope you all like it!! :D**

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Dean cursed, dodging to the side as another car barreled toward him like a racecar out of control. He rolled, back slamming into the fender of a pickup a few feet behind him, breathing hard. "It's only one car…" He mocked the dealership owner's voice, rolling his eyes, "We haven't had problems with any of the others…" First of all, it was a lie; he hadn't told them that the one car had the ability to animate the other cars in the lot and turn them into used death machines. Second, Dean was pretty damn tired of being the ball in a bumper car pinball game.

It should have been an in and out job, take care of the possessed car and be on their way. But no, things never worked out that easily. The car in question, an 85' Mazda, was supposed to be the only one in the lot giving the owner any problems. The previous owner of the car had been shot and killed in a hijacking and now his spirit was possessing the car, wreaking havoc on both the lot and anyone who tried to drive it. One man had been run off the road into a ditch and had to get stitches for injuries sustained and another driver had the hood come down hard enough to break a bone in his hand. The car should have been scrapped immediately but it was much more desirable to make a quick buck.

Little did they know, the demon car could send out a frequency to a few of the other cars in the lot that turned over the engine by itself and allowed the unmanned cars drive around by themselves. This was accompanied by the fact that they were immediately set on the Winchesters.

Dean took a deep breath and steadied himself against the fender of the pickup. He had no idea where Sam was, they had gotten separated whenever the first set of cars charged at them. He hoped his younger brother was alright and, judging from the continuous rev of the engines and the occasional squeal of tires, he was pretty sure Sam was giving the cars a run for their money as well.

Headlights blared a few feet away and Dean barely had time to roll out of the way just as a Jeep crashed into the pickup inches from where he's been. He jumped up, sprinting across the dusty car lot and turned sharply to avoid another car turning him into a speed bump. He pressed his back against a section of the fence hidden by a suburban. He couldn't keep this up much longer; they needed to find the Mazda and destroy it and get this over with.

There was a scuff of footsteps a few feet away and suddenly Sam dropped down beside him, covered in dirt and motor oil just like his brother. "Hey, any luck?" He asked, glancing out at the teeming vehicles in the lot.

Dean shook his head, relieved to see that Sam appeared undamaged thanks to the events of the evening. "No. The Mazda's somewhere near the back gate but its way the hell and gone across the parking lot. I've been trying to get to it but those freaky demon cars block me at every chance."

"Same here." Sam said, slightly out of breath as he leaned against the fence. One thing was for sure, the owner of the lot was going to be pissed off in the morning. "What if we tried running on top of the cars? You know, jumping on the roofs and hoods instead of running on the ground? It would make it a lot harder for the possessed ones to get to us."

Dean considered this a minute and nodded. "Yeah, but it also means we're higher up and that means a longer fall."

"I don't think we have a ton of options to work with…"

"You're right." Dean didn't wait for Sam to respond before he grabbed a heavy scrap of metal from one of the other car and slammed it into the side of the suburban. Immediately, the alarm went off and the lights began to flash, filling the car lot with noise.

"The hell are you doing?!" Sam demanded, looking to see a line of car racing their direction.

"Buying you some time." Dean answered, hopping on the hood of the car and jerking Sam up with him. "Get to the other side of the lot and see if you can find that Mazda. I'll keep this group occupied." Before his brother could say anything else, Dean took off across the parking lot, the cars speeding along behind him.

Sam watched him go and, taking a deep breath, jumped across the hood of one of the other cars and made his way to the other side of the parking lot.

**OOOOO**

At least two of the cars crashed while chasing after him. Dean heard the twisting crunch of metal as they slammed into other parked cars and had to side step and dodge a few pieces of flying metal as they were destroyed. There were only three left now and he still had the Mazda to deal with. He just hoped Sam could get there before he became a pothole on the parking lot.

Another truck sped toward him, the lights blaring wildly as it came. Dean remained on the roof of the truck he'd been standing on and waited for the exact moment to jump. Just as the distance closed between that truck and the one he was standing on, Dean jumped, landing hard and rolling out of the way of the colliding vehicles. Okay, two left.

He could see that back gate but there was no sign of Sam or the Mazda, both of which sat uneasily with him. An engine rumbled behind him and he didn't have time to think anymore as he took off across the lot again. He hopped up onto the hood of Buick and steadied himself, waiting for the chase to begin again.

What he didn't expect was to see the Mazda, with Sam in the driver's seat, come speeding around the corner. "What the hell…?" Dean muttered, watching as Sam fought valiantly to gain control of the steering wheel. The car was speeding directly toward the brick office building at the end of the lot and Sam was still inside. "Sam!" He yelled, jumping off the Buick and racing after his brother. "Get out of the car! Now!"

A jeep roared behind him, pursuing him like a predator, but Dean didn't care. All he could focus on was the rapidly approaching brick wall. "Sam!"

At the very last instant, he saw Sam throw himself from the car and land with a sickening thud on the dusty ground below. The Mazda, unable to avoid the collision, slammed head on into the brick building, crunching in on itself like a tin can. Immediately, the jeep following him slowed to a stop, the engine dying and the car becoming idle. Once again, Dean didn't care.

"Sammy!" He yelled, running and falling to his knees beside his crumpled little brother. "Sam? Hey man, you alright?"

Sam winced, squeezing his eyes shut and sitting up slowly. "Yeah…ow…"

"What hurts Sam? Did you hit something?" Dean asked, scanning his brother's face carefully. There were a few scratches and cuts but nothing too serious.

"Ah…" Sam gasped, his face visibly paling as he grabbed his left arm. "Shit…I think I dislocated my shoulder…"

Dean looked down and swallowed when he saw the injury. It was definitely dislocated, his arm hanging at an unusually low angle. "Jesus Sam…" He breathed, shaking his head. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Ngh…I knew the car would try to take me down with it so I had an idea…it was a painful idea…" He allowed after a second of consideration. He took a shaky breath and look at Dean. "Help me up…"

"Are you sure? Maybe you should-"

"I'm fine." Sam cut him off, his voice tight with pain. "It's just my shoulder…besides, I'd rather be on my feet in case the demon jeep behind you decides to rev up again."

Dean nodded slowly and carefully helped Sam stand, looking down at his sagging arm. "Sammy, we gotta put that back in." He said slowly, knowing it was going to hurt like hell.

Sam nodded, his face pale beneath the dirt and motor oil. "I know…" He took a slow breath and closed his eyes. "I need your help."

Taking Sam's injured arm carefully in his hands, Dean gently maneuvered it so that Sam was bending his elbow. He twisted his arm toward his chest, trying to ignore Sam's hitched breath, and looked at his little brother. "Okay, we're going to do it on three. Ready?"

Sam nodded weakly, squeezing his eyes closed and bracing himself.

"One…two…" Dean took a breath, and tightened his grip. "Hey Sammy, guess what?"

"What?" Sam gasped, his jaws clenched tightly.

"This is gonna hurt." Dean said just as he twisted Sam's arm outward and a deep *pop* sounded in the air. Sam cried out, his knees buckling and his face contorting in agony. Dean caught him right before he fell. "Easy Sammy…Easy…I gotcha…" He held on tightly for a few seconds, waiting until Sam managed to regain his footing. The younger man was breathing heavily, face hidden against his brother's shoulder. "You okay…?"

Sam took a minute to answer but when he did sounded better. "Yeah…I'll be fine." He straightened slowly, wincing as his injured arm still pressed against his side. "Guess we outta call the owner, huh?" He asked, looking around and surveying the damage. Ruined cars were strewn everywhere, smoke and exhaust pouring from beneath the hoods. Metal littered the ground and the fading alarm of the suburban echoed across the lot.

"Yeah, he's gonna be pissed." Dean looked back at the destroyed Mazda, knowing they would have to burn it completely before the left. "You know, we could call Stephen King and see if he wants to do a sequel to Christine. We have plenty of material."

Sam laughed weakly. "We have more material than Stephen King ever will."

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**Okay, so I've never had a dislocated shoulder but from what I hear they hurt like hell O.o Hope you guys liked it!! :D**


	6. Migraine

**Yay migraine!! I've only had a couple in my life and they're miserable O.o So of course, I had to give one to Sammy =p Hope you all like it!!**

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Sam shifted uncomfortably in the stiff computer chair in the hotel business center. He'd been staring at the computer screen for the better part of three hours now, desperately trying to get a handle on the mountain of homework that had piled up over the past week. Two hunts combined with consistent research was beginning to seriously interfere with his schoolwork and his grades had begun to fall, much to the dismay of his teachers. So now, instead of going out and doing something on a Friday night like any normal seventeen year old would do, Sam had resigned himself to an evening of typing papers and trying to get caught up and keep his GPA from falling any further. Dean and his father could care less about maintaining a 3.8 GPA; they were just interested in whatever the next creepy crawly was going to be. Sam cared about the hunts as well but, unlike his brother and father, he was actually concerned with graduating and getting a scholarship of some sort before it was all over with.

He shifted again, one hand coming up to absently squeeze the back of his neck in an attempt to ward off the impending headache that was just on the outskirt of his consciousness. He'd kept a dull ache for most of the day and it was beginning to get annoying. No amount of painkillers or water seemed to affect it and the flickering computer monitor wasn't doing much to remedy the problem either. He had just finished the English paper but there was still the math homework, the history report over the Axis Powers, the worksheets for Spanish, not to mention the charts he had to make for Chemistry...

Sam shook his head wearily, scrubbing his face with his hands. He'd be lucky if he went to bed before midnight, something he hadn't managed to do all week. Every night averaged about four hours of sleep if he was lucky and the sleep deprivation was beginning to catch up to him. Even when everyone else was sleeping, he stayed awake to catch up on the chapters he'd neglected to read the night before. It was exhausting but he couldn't stop now, not if he wanted to pass his classes.

The headache was getting worse, his vision blurring slightly as he stared at the computer screen. What started as an irritatingly persistent throb had become and all out shooting pain that streaked down his temples into his jaws and down the back of his neck. It hurt to think, hell, it hurt to move. He was pretty sure the first aid kit had something stronger than Tylenol in it but it was all the way back in the room and if he left now there was a good chance he could convince himself not to come back. The pain increased again, an icepick grinding through his skull and wedging itself deep. He felt like his head was splitting open and molten lava was being poured in.

He moaned softly, unable to control the noise that escaped his lips. The world swayed around him like a lava lamp, rising and falling sickeningly with every breath he took. His jaw popped suddenly and he was instantly aware that he'd been clenching his teeth throughout the initial onslaught. Rigid muscles tensed in his neck, knotting his shoulders and back like someone twisting a rope. He was vaguely aware of sliding out of the chair and pressing his back firmly against the wall, hoping the feeling of the floor beneath him would help with the dizziness.

Sam groaned again and squeezed his eyes shut. He'd had plenty of concussions in the past and had been swatted over the head with more things than he could count but nothing compared to the nerve-frying pain he was experiencing right now. He thought briefly about standing and making his way back to the room but that would require being vertical, a feat he wasn't sure he could master right now.

Realizing he had very few options left, Sam let his body slump a little further down on the wall and kept his eyes closed, praying for the pain to end.

**OOOOO**

Dean swung the door closed behind him, dropping the keys to the rental car in his pocket. For a Friday night, the bar scene really sucked in this town. He'd gone to three out of the four, partially because the fourth was predominantly a gay bar and Dean just wasn't all that comfortable with being hit on by guys all night. He'd had a little bit of luck at one of them, landing at least a phone number and two minute make-out session in the back room of the bar. The girl's name was Melissa or Molly or something like that, he couldn't really read what she had written down and he hadn't bothered to ask.

It was kind of nice to have a night off. Their dad was visiting with an old friend, picking up a few clues about a hunt up in Minnesota, and Sam had stayed back at the hotel to finish some homework. It was only 11:47, much earlier than Dean would have liked it to be, but the chick in the bar was a dead end even if he didn't want to admit it while she was shoving her tongue down his throat.

He jammed the key into the lock and opened the door to their room, stepping inside and frowning slightly. No Sam. He knew the kid was dedicated to his schoolwork but seriously? He'd been in that computer lab since 7 o'clock that evening. _Probably fell asleep on the keyboard_ Dean mused, turning on his heel and making his way up to the front lobby. The business center was there for looks only; in the entire three weeks they'd been living in this rat-trap motel, Dean never saw anyone in the other than Sam.

The door was closed as he approached, the low hum of two old computer monitors echoing from behind the wall. Dean pushed open the door slowly and peaked inside, frowning again when he didn't see the mop of brown hair he was searching for. Sam's books and spirals were still all over the desk though, and the monitor closest to the door was on and flickering. "Hmm...maybe he went to the vending machines..." Dean muttered, turning away and getting ready to close the door behind him. There was a tiny moan behind the door and he stopped, looking down to see Sam curled on the floor, cradling his head in his hands.

"Oh shit...Sammy..." Dean gasped, stepping inside quickly and kneeling next to his brother. "Hey kiddo, you okay? What's wrong?"

Sam had both hands pressed over his eyes, jaw clenched tightly and face pale. "...hurts..." He gasped between clenched teeth, his shoulders shaking faintly.

Dean frowned. "What hurts, Sammy? Did something happen? Did you fall?" It sounded silly but he was trying anything for an answer.

"My head..." Sam responded, taking a shaky breath. "Feels like being hit with a brick. A lot."

"How long?"

"All day..."

Dean felt his heart drop a little. Sam had kept a headache all day and hadn't said anything because he wanted to finish his schoolwork. They'd been pushing Sam really hard lately and between that, the stress with school, and the lack of sleep, it was little surprise that Sam had finally broken down. Reaching out carefully, he lifted one of Sam's hands away from his eyes, frowning at the clamminess of his skin, and moved so he was eye level with him. "Hey Sammy, let's go to the room, okay? We'll get you all tucked in in bed and your headache will go away."

Sam managed to weakly shake his head. "Ngh...need to finish homework..."

"Sam, you can't even open your eyes without squinting. I highly doubt you'll be able to do anything productive tonight." Pulling gently, he managed to loop one of Sam's arms around his neck and pulled up slowly. "Come on, man. Bedtime for you."

Whatever protest Sam was going to make died as soon as he was lifted off the ground. His pain-filled eyes widened and he paled even more. Dean recognized the look just in time to side step, grab a wastebasket, and drop it onto the ground just as Sam lost the contents of his stomach in the metal bin. He gagged and wretched violently, his shoulders shaking with exertion and his face covered in a thin sheet of sweat.

"Easy there brainiac..."Dean teased lightly, keeping one arm looped under Sam's spasming stomach to prevent him from toppling over and into the trashcan. "Shh...its okay Sammy...just let it out..."

A few minutes passed and Sam finally stopped his gagging, breathing heavily and swaying against his brother. Dean kept a firm grip on Sam, carefully scooting the trashcan to the door and walking along with it, essentially carrying Sam with him. They managed to make it out of the room and onto the sidewalk with little difficulty until gravity decided to act like a prick and knock Sam over again. The room was only a few doors down now so Dean just sighed, scooped Sam over his shoulder, and made the way to the room carrying his little brother like a sack of flour.

The room was dark and cold, the perfect place for Sam to be, and Dean carefully deposited him on the nearest bed. He pulled off Sam's shoes and tossed them toward his bag across the room. The rest of the clothes could stay where they were, Dean really didn't feel like stripping his brother tonight.

The older hunter rummaged around in the first aid kit, finding a bottle of Vicodin they'd managed to save over the years. Multiple trips to the ER had its advantages and they now had a pretty decent supply of the 'good stuff.' He plucked a pill from the container and broke it in half, filling a glass with water from the sink and handing them both to his distressed brother.

Sam took the pill without question and fell back on the bed, squeezing his eyes closed even in spite of the darkness. His breathing was labored and harsh, coming out in short pants as he tried to breathe through the pain the way their father had taught them. It wasn't working at all; nothing was making this better.

Dean didn't like chick-flick moments, in fact, he loathed them, but seeing his brother like that made him shrug away the distaste and slide on to the bed with him. He gathered Sam in his arms, the younger boy limp and pliable in his grip. Leaning back against the headboard, Dean gently kneaded the rigid muscles in the back of Sam's neck, working slowly to release the knots of tension that had settled there. He carded his fingers through the younger boy's hair, massaging his scalp with each pass and letting his fingers drag through the soft strands. Slowly but surely, Sam began to relax against Dean's shoulder, his breathing evening out as the pain began to lessen inch by inch.

It was a slow, drawn out process, the migraine dragging on until it was eventually suppressed by the drugs. Sam's shoulders un-hunched and his jaw relaxed along with the muscles in his back and neck. After nearly an hour, he took a shaky breath and looked up at his brother. "Thanks Dean..." He whispered, his voice weak and uneven.

Dean nodded. "Sure thing, Sammy. Get some sleep, your homework will still be waiting for you tomorrow." He added playfully, never releasing his hold on his little brother.

"Jerk..." Came the soft, fading reply.

"Bitch."

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**Okay, so I don't know if you can treat a migraine with Vicodin but I know I'd be willing to try it lol. Hope you liked it!! :D**


	7. Venom

**Hello all!! Okay, so I typed this in a hurry so if it sucks I apologize O.o We do have a plethora of snakes in Texas so this seemed easy enough to write :D Hope you all like it!!**

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Sam leaped fluidly over the fallen tree, landing in the dead leaves the carpeted the ground and keeping pace with the rapidly fleeing creature they'd been trailing for the past two hours. It was similar to a Bigfoot but this one had discovered it liked the taste of camper and now there were three dead campers and more on the way if it wasn't stopped. Dean crashed through the trees up ahead of him, gun loaded and gripped in his hands. They'd tracked the creature into the woods a good ten miles away from where they parked the car and it showed no signs of stopping any time soon. One thing most people didn't give Texas credit for were the miles of forest that stretched across the easter part of the state. Losing the creature would be very easy in a place like this; it was like the swamps in Louisiana or the Everglades, once something went in, it was hard to get back out.

There was a shot up ahead and a loud, reverberating yowl echoed through the trees. "Sam!" Dean called from up ahead and Sam forced himself to run faster. When it came to hunts, Dean was faster but Sam was a better shot, a trade-out that worked nicely in their favor in most cases. Sam cut through a pile of fallen leaves and was just about to round the corner to help his brother when a sharp, shooting pain flared in his leg. He gasped, halting slightly to look down for the source of the pain. There was a slither in the leaves and the end of a sinewy tail, almost perfectly blended in with the leaves, slipped under a dead tree branch. A small trickle of blood oozed from the side of his pants leg, about mid-calf, but it was nothing too serious. He wasn't all that surprised; snakes were common in this area and especially in the warm summer months it was typical to see them hiding out in the brush. Ignoring the snakebite for now, Sam took off running again as another shot echoed off the trees.

He rounded the into a clearing to see the creature swinging wildly at his older brother. It was easily seven feet tall, covered in a thick coat of reddish fur similar to and Orangutan. Sharp teeth gnashed and bared at Dean as he leveled the gun at the beast again. "Sammy! Little help over here?!"

Sam didn't bother to answer but aimed his gun and fired, hitting the beast in the shoulder. It howled again, turning to face the new opponent with a snarl. Turning on its massive feet, it took off into the trees again leaving the brothers to pant and curse with no other option than to pursue again.

The pain in his leg increased from a dull throb to a full on burn but Sam didn't slow down. Failing now meant another person would die unless this thing was stopped and quick. For such a large creature, it moved extremely fast and was able to put measurable distance between itself and the Winchesters. Dean pushed ahead just enough to get a clean shot the creature stumbled with a loud crash like a tree falling. "Got 'im!" He yelled, running to where the best fell, Sam right on his heels.

One well aimed shot was all it took to end the creatures blood-thirsty rampage and after the final bullet had been fired, both Winchesters sat on the forest floor, breathing heavily. "Sorry we had to shoot your relative there Sammy..." Dean teased, gasping for breath as he slid his gun back into his waistband.

Normally, Sam would have fired back with a sarcastic remark of his own but the pain in his leg, mixed with being out of breath, stopped that reaction from coming. "No worries..." He breathed, pressing his back into a tree trunk. A little more blood stained his jeans but it was nothing he couldn't handle. "You're sure there was only one of these things?"

"From all the reports we got? Yeah, just one." Dean sighed and took a deep breath, pushing himself to his feet. He gazed at the slain beast and sneered. "And you know, it could have stayed out here forever and we never would have known...But no, gotta sample the buffet at the local campgrounds." He shook his head slowly and nodded back in the direction they'd come. "Come on, I'm tired of the woods."

Sam nodded and stood slowly, wincing at the pain in his leg. He waited for Dean to get in front of him before following along behind. His brother noticed the lead though and turned to look at him.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, why?"

Dean frowned and nodded down. "You're limping."

Sam shrugged half-heartedly. "Probably twisted my ankle running or something." He lied; there was no reason to make a big deal out a little snakebite like that.

"You're such a girl." Dean teased, walking a little in front of him but keeping a slow enough pace so Sam could follow.

They trekked along silently for about two miles, each one listening for signs of any other creatures in the woods. They were greeted with nothing but the chirping of birds and insects. The sun began to dip behind the trees, casting the fores into a sunny afternoon glow. Had it not been for chasing a flesh-eating beast through the forest, it would have been a nice day for a hike.

That and the snakebite. Each step felt like a lump of smoldering coal was being dug into Sam's leg, the pain increasing with every movement. He tried to ignore it, thinking of any and everything else but it was nearly impossible. Not only that, he was beginning to feel like he couldn't catch his breath and his fingers and toes were going numb. _Just gotta make it back to the car _he told himself. _Just keep walking..._

"Sammy?"

"Hmm...?" Sam stopped, looking up.

"You okay?"

There was a brief nod and then the world titled suddenly and Sam found himself toppling toward the ground. Strong arms caught him instantly and he was lowered down gently. "Whoa! Easy..." Dean whispered above him, kneeling with him. "Sam." Dean said sharply, shaking the younger man enough to get his attention. "What's wrong?"

"My leg..." Sam said, shifting to take some of the pressure off of the affected limb and wincing as the world swayed again.

"What's wrong with your leg?" Dean asked, looking down to see the blood stain through the jeans. "Sammy? Tell me what happened."

Sam took a slow, shaky breath and closed his eyes. "There was a snake...I think it bit me."

"A sn-?" Dean started but stopped, immediately rolling up Sam's jeans and hissing at the sight of the wound. The skin surrounding the puncture marks was black and blue, swollen, and hot to the touch. He cursed and looked back at his brother. "Why didn't you say something Sam?!" He demanded, the words coming out harsher than he meant them to. Panic and desperation mixed in his voice.

"We had other things to worry about..." Sam gasped through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, well not when it comes to something like this." Dean growled, looking back toward the trees. They still had about a mile to go before they reached the car and another five miles before they were back in town and anywhere close to a hospital. "Do you know what kind of snake it was Sam?"

"Brown..." Sam clenched his teeth and shook his head. "Probably a Copperhead or something. There was no rattle so it couldn't have been a Rattlesnake..."

Dean nodded, trying to keep himself calm. Panicking wouldn't help either of them. "Okay. Come on Sammy." He looped an arm around his brother's shoulders and carefully hoisted him up, taking most of the weight onto his own shoulders. "Let's get back to the car, nature-boy."

The rest of the trip back was slow, both having to stop multiple times in order to rest in Sam's case or readjust in Dean's. By the time they reached the car, Sam could barely stand on his own.

Dean opened the door and gently deposited his brother into the front seat, running around to the other side and sliding in behind the steering wheel. He started the ignition and backed out, swinging into the paved road leading to the campgrounds and following it up to the highway. Sam was wheezing faintly, his breathing coming out in short hitched gasped as he struggled to take in enough air. "Just hang on Sammy..." Dean said, flooring the accelerator and speeding down the highway.

He'd seen his little brother injured and sick on multiple occasions but it still never made it any easier. Sam was Dean's weakness and seeing him in trouble sent big-brother mode into overdrive. He glanced over, seeing a thin sheet of sweat covering his brother's face and neck. Sam was pale, his cheeks flushed and bright in contrast with the rest, and his eyes were closed tightly as he fought to breathe. Dean reached over and pressed his hand to Sam's chest, feeling the weak, rapid heartbeat beneath his palm and the shaky rise and fall of his chest. "Shit..." If he didn't get to a hospital soon, Sam could go into shock.

He broke nearly every speed limit he crossed on his way to the hospital, swinging into the parking lot like a race car driver on a mission. Without taking the time to make sure he was parked in the right area, Dean jumped out of the car and ran into the hospital.

A pretty blond receptionist jumped as he nearly collided with the desk, her eyes widening. "My brother's been bitten by a snake and he;s having trouble breathing." He rambled breathlessly, looking for any nearby doctors or nurses. The blond woman nodded and pressed a few buttons on her keyboard, paging the nearest doctor to the front. "What kind of snake?" She asked, typing rapidly on her computer.

"Uhh...A copperhead I think."

She nodded again and within seconds, a flurry of green-scrub wearing nurses and a doctor rushed outside to the waiting car and pulled Sam from the passenger seat. Before Dean could even ask where they were taking him, they whisked him through a hallway and disappeared behind a pair of double doors.

**OOOOO**

Waiting was the worst part. Dean had paced every inch of the waiting room and had flipped through just about every magazine by the time the doctor came for him. "Mr. Wilson?"

"Yeah, that's me." Dean said, whirling around at the mention of his surname.

The doctor looked like he was in his 50s with a kind smile and warm, fatherly eyes. "Are you Sam's brother?"

"Yes sir. Is he okay?"

The doctor nodded. "We gave him a dose of antivenom that will counteract the venom and have him stabilized in the ICU. You can go see him if you like."

Dean nodded and followed the doctor into the ICU, coming to a stop at the foot of his brother's bed. "We're going to keep him overnight for observation but he should make a full recovery." The doctor continued, nodding to the bandage on Sam's leg. "We managed to catch it before any permanent damage could take place."

Sam was still pale, his hair sticking to his damp forehead, but he looked much better than he had before. Dean fell into the chair beside the bed and let out a sigh. "man...what am I going to do with you Sam?" He asked to no one in particular, staring up at the ceiling.

"Leave me on the side of the road with $20 and a note that says "free to a good home"?" Came the tired reply.

Dean laughed. "Whatever, I wouldn't give you $20."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Comfortable silence passed between them for a few minutes. "You know Sammy..." Dean began, his voice somber. "I hate to break it to you but you would have failed the Wilderness Survival portion of Boy Scouts."

"Good thing I was never a scout." Sam mumbled back

Dean laughed quietly. "Yeah, being a Hunter is more fun anyway..."

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**Hope it wasn't too bad!! :D**


	8. Ring

**Hey guys!! God, I'm glad finals are over O.o Okay, so this is the third (possibly last) Sam-gets-drunk story :D I wanted to try something sad so hopefully you all like it!! This takes place early Season 1, before the figured out YED was the cause of all of it -.-; Hope you like it!! :D**

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Dean sighed, looking out the window for the fourth time in an hour to see that Sam still hadn't returned. The younger man had been gone for about three hours, only God knew where, but Dean suppressed the concerned big brother instinct that came automatically and let it go. Sam needed some time, that much was obvious. This case hadn't been particularly good to him.

The girls all had the same physical appearance: long blond hair, blue eyes, pretty smiles. And then some asshole trying to resurrect some bogus demon had killed them. The case wasn't even in their field, it was just some psycho douchebag who happened to take it into his mind that the only way to revive Belil. _'It's __**Belial**__, you idiot!_' Dean scowled in disbelief, completely unable to believe the man's ignorance. It didn't matter, three girls were dead and he was the cause of it. Sam had barely said a word for the rest of the day, even after the police hauled the guy off to prison. Granted, he'd been pretty quiet ever since this case began and Dean knew exactly why that was.

It had only been a little over a month since Sam had forcefully been brought back into the world of hunting, only a month since his girlfriend was murdered in their room, pinned the ceiling and gutted the same way their mother had. Dean fully expected Sam to go into the full grieving process but he never did, he simply threw himself into the hunts and used them as a way to ignore whatever was going on inside of him. All attempts of the older Winchester to coax his younger brother into talking had failed and finally Dean had given up; he wasn't going to force Sam if he didn't want to talk about it. So he pretended to not notice how Sam refused to look at the pictures of the girls who had been murdered and he pretended to be unaware that Sam had barely slept since this case began over four days ago. It was killing him and Dean knew it but Sam wasn't anything if not hard-headed and forcing him to open up was like trying to slam a revolving door: damn near impossible.

Dean walked over to the window once more and looked outside, noticing a hunched figure perched on the back end of the Impala. Normally, he would have walked out and reamed Sam for disrespecting his baby that way but not tonight. Instead, he just grabbed a jacket and walked outside, closing the door behind him.

Sam was sitting on the trunk, staring up at the sky blankly. It was well below forty degrees outside but if he was cold he didn't show it. His shoulders were hunched, a classic Sam-sign of defeat even if he didn't realize it. Ever since he was seventeen and passed Dean up height-wise, he always made sure to stand up straight to make that a point. But tonight his back was rounded, shoulders limp and hanging forward as if to protect himself from something unseen. He'd looked that way the night Jessica died.

Dean came around the side of the car and stopped, leaning against the trunk and looking up at the sky as well. It was a beautiful night, the stars clear and shining above them, a full, silver moon hanging in the sky like an ornament, and had it been better circumstances, they might have enjoyed it. Dean stood silently for a minute or two, absently zipping his jacket against the chill of the wind. Softly, he cleared his throat. "You know, I read somewhere that staring at the moon too long can make you go blind."

Sam chuckled softly but it contained no humor. "That's the sun Dean..." He said, never taking his eyes off the sky.

"Yeah, always get those two confused." He slid up on the trunk next to his brother and leaned back against the rear window. Disgracing the Impala this way was something he would normally never do but he was willing to make an exception tonight. "So...whacha doin?" He asked, glancing over at Sam in hopes of an answer.

"Drinking." Sam said simply, raising a bottle of whiskey that had been hidden against his side and taking a long drink.

"I see that."

"Yup." Sam said, swallowing sharply and setting the bottle back down. He was quiet for a few seconds, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy like he had been crying. Then again it may have just been the alcohol. "This sucks..." He said finally with a huff.

"What does Sammy?"

"This." The younger man gestured vaguely to the open parking lot in front of them. "This town...this parking lot...life...?" He threw his arm with very little coordination to one side. "It all sucks. Sucks, sucks, sucks..." He took another drink and sighed, glaring at the bottle distastefully. "I don't even like whiskey..." He pouted before setting the bottle back on the car.

Dean smiled softly and shook his head; Sam was probably one of the most passive-aggressive drunks he'd ever met. "Then why are you drinking it?" He asked though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

"Wanted to forget..." Sam said, looking down at something small and black in his lap. "Needed something strong...all we have in the room is mouthwash and 409..."

"Yeah, neither would do you any good I'm afraid." Dean shifted a little so he could see what Sam was holding and felt his stomach drop. It was a box for a ring. "Sammy..." He started but Sam cut him off.

"You know what's funny?"

"At this moment? No."

"That guy was trying to raise Belial..." The words were slurred but Sam didn't seem to care. "I mean, why? Demons are assholes." He shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world, which, as it turns out, it kind of was. "And Belial of all of them? Jesus...he's like the biggest dick of them all. Just one, huge, walking dick."

Dean bit the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. Sam was being serious but being serious when you're drunk tends to turn out disastrously. "I don't know Sammy...I really don't..."

"I mean seriously...if people only knew what demons were capable of...what they would do...they would..." He stopped, his voice faded off as his hand tightened around the tiny velvet box. "God..." He sighed, closing his eyes tightly and clenching his teeth.

"No God here, Sammy..." Dean said softly, his voice sad and resigned. He'd accepted that they were pretty much alone in this ever since he was five. "Just us..."

Sam nodded though he didn't open his eyes for several seconds. Finally, he let them slide open and a few tears fell along with the motion. "Hey Dean...?" He asked, his voice broken and lost.

"Yeah, man?"

"Could you do me a favor?"

"Anything Sammy."

There was a heavy pause and Sam took a shaky, uneven breath. "Could you throw this away for me? I don't think I'll be needing it anymore..."

The little box was passed to him and Dean suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe. "Sammy...I think you should-"

"I pawned the ring earlier." Sam cut him off from whatever he was going to say. "Got about $800 for it." He laughed brokenly, tears streaking his face. "It cost me three and half paychecks..." He added softly, shoulder trembling slightly though Dean couldn't tell if it was from cold or tears. "I don't even-" He stopped, his voice hitching as a sob wracked his body.

Without a thought, Dean scooted over and wrapped his arms around his younger brother, holding him close as the tears wetted his shirt. "Shh...its okay Sammy...its okay..." It wasn't okay, it would never be okay, but they had to make it the best they could; it was the only thing they had. "I gotcha kiddo...I'm right here..."

It took about fifteen minutes for the tears to stop and ten minutes longer before Sam's breathing returned to normal and it wasn't the hitched gasps that had filled the silence a few minutes before. "God...this is so fucked up..." Sam breathed, keeping his face buried in his brother's jacket, his hand tangled in the thick fabric.

"I know Sammy... I know..." Dean rubbed small circles into his brother's back, looking up at the sky and silently cursing whatever being had caused all of this. God was nowhere to be found, especially when they needed Him most, and that made Dean angry. But he figured that if they were really alone in this, it was better to be alone together than alone apart.

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**Yay!! There will be something Christmas-themed next week so stay tuned!! =P**


	9. Christmas Eve

**Hey guys!! This is my attempt at a holiday chapter!! Traffic gets crazy this time of year so I hope everyone has a safe and happy Holiday!! Hope all like it!! :D**

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The highway stretched on endlessly in both directions, the constant blur of the yellow lines racing pass the car as it sped across the black asphalt. It was a cold night, well below 20 degrees, and the dark clouds that blanketed the sky overhead were threatening snow with each passing second.

Dean sighed and turned up the heater, a chill creeping across the exposed skin of his hands and face. Normally, driving at night didn't bother him but tonight he was antsy, fidgety, in a way he didn't like. It wasn't because it was Christmas Eve, they never celebrated Christmas anyway, but it that may have been part of the reason. There was just something about driving down a lonely highway on a night that was supposed to be a time for love and family that bothered him. Nights like this made him hate his job simply because it meant that having a normal life with a wife and family were borderline impossible. Sam had been close, God, he had been so close to getting away from all of it, and the what does he get? A girlfriend gutted and pinned to the ceiling, bursting into flames the minute he walks in the room. Dean frowned and shook his head, pushing the thought away. He could think about it another night, not tonight though.

Sam had been relatively quiet through most of the night but he seemed to be in a good mood, occasionally making jokes and comments about the signs and town they passed throughout the day. Neither of them said anything about it being Christmas Eve, they both knew and nothing needed to be discussed. They had a job in northern Colorado that required their immediate attention so for the moment both were entirely focused on that.

Dean shifted a little and looked at the clock on the dashboard. It was only 6:45 but it felt like 9 o'clock thanks to the deserted roads and dark clouds. They'd been on the road just over ten hours but the long drive meant they would get to the town just after midnight. It was worth it even if the miles were beginning to run together and Dean's foot had fallen asleep from lack of movement.

"You know, we can stop and I can take the wheel if you want." Sam offered from the passenger seat, obviously noticing his older brother's uncomfortable shifts.

Dean weighed the options for a second and shook his head. "Nah, I'm fine. Just getting tired of the scenery, you know?" He gestured vaguely out the window to dark trees that crowded the edges of the road.

Sam shrugged lightly and leaned back. "Alright, just let me know if you want me to drive."

"Sammy, my leg could be missing and I still wouldn't let you drive." Dean teased, laughing when Sam landed a solid punch in his shoulder.

"We could test that theory." Sam shot back, grinning wickedly as Dean scowled. The Impala was Dean's life and the idea of letting anyone drive it but him was simply out of the question.

"You couldn't take me even if I was blind, deaf, and dumb." The older Winchester fired back at his passenger.

"Well, you haven't landed the blind and deaf part yet but you're all over that dumb angle." Sam shrugged like it was common sense and faced the window.

"Dude, I could take your gargantuan ass any day of the week, hands tied behind my back."

"As I recall, you did have your hands tied behind your back when we were back in Richmond and you couldn't even fight off that little old lady."

" 'Little old lady' happened to be a demon, Sammy. There's a big difference."

"Just keep telling yourself that, sunshine."

"Okay, you know what-?" They had been so caught up in their bickering that Dean barely had time to react as another car swerved wildly around the curve up ahead and veered into their lane. The other driver didn't seem aware that there was about to be a head-on collision and kept driving straight. Dean swerved desperately, trying to avoid a direct impact, but the slick road did very little to help the maneuver. Tires skidded, brakes locked, and the front end of the Impala jerked suddenly into the steep ditch on the side of the road. There was a tremendous crash as the car rolled once and then slammed into a very solid tree. A sharp, pained gasp to his right caused Dean to look over in concern but the effort was lost as his head connected sharply with the window as the car rocked back and nothing but blackness greeted him.

**OOOOO**

It took a long time before Dean was able to convince himself to open his eyes and take in his surroundings. Everything felt hazy, like waking up from a dream, and his body felt unresponsive as he moved. He was well aware that they had gone off the road and the Impala was probably fucked up beyond measure; the knock on the head hadn't been enough to erase those facts. He groaned angrily and slammed his fist against the door in frustration, not looking forward to examining the damage. Something bothered him though and he sat up suddenly, looking across the passenger seat. "Shit! Sammy!"

The younger man was slumped against the door, eyes closed and not moving. Blood covered one side of his face from a cut at his hair line and his head lolled to one side limply like a rag doll.

"Shit…" Dean muttered, struggling to unbuckle his seatbelt and slide across the seat to his little brother's side. "Sammy? Can you hear me?" He touched his brother's face, wincing at the coolness of his skin and a sick feeling of panic settled in his stomach. He touched Sam's throat, closing his eyes and concentrating. For a dreadful second he didn't feel anything and he felt like someone had just punched him in the stomach. Then he felt the faint, sluggish flutter of a pulse beneath his fingertips and he could breathe again. "Oh thank God…" He muttered though he wasn't too happy with the fact that God had let this happen. Christmas Eve of all nights!

"Sammy? Come on man…this is no time for a nap…." He gently patted the younger man's face, hoping to get some kind of response from him. Sam's eyes moved slightly beneath closed lids but that was about all he got. "Sam. Wake up." Dean hit him a little harder, just enough to be uncomfortable and was rewarded when his little brother groaned and opened his eyes slowly.

"D'n…?" Sam mumbled, fighting to keep his eyes open. It appeared to be a losing battle.

"No, no going back to sleep Sam." Dean said, patting his cheek again to get the younger man to come back around. "I need you to keep your eyes open for Sammy, okay? That's an order."

"Kill…joy…" Sam mumbled, managing to open his eyes again. His gaze was unfocused and blank, the telltale signs of a concussion, though how serious Dean wasn't sure.

"Sam, can you feel your legs? Your arms?" Dean asked, taking stock of his brother's injuries. Aside from the concussion it was hard to tell in the darkness. All he knew was that the tree had hit on Sam's side of the car so he got the worst of the crash.

"Legs are good…arms…" Sam moved his arms slightly to make his point but gasped sharply, his face going pale beneath the drying blood.

"What?! What's wrong?!" Dean asked, unable to keep the panic out of his voice.

"Ribs…oh God…broken ribs suck…"

Dean took a steadying breath and reached over, pressing his hand gently against Sam's chest. Along the left side he could feel the slight give of broken bone and the hiss as Sam sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Jesus Christ Sammy…" Dean muttered, unbuckling the younger man's seatbelt to ease some of the pressure of his ribs. "I just can't take you anywhere, can I?"

Sam laughed weakly, his face a mask of pain. "G-Guess not…" He suppressed a groan as Dean slowly eased him back until he was laying in his brother's lap. He was trembling, whether from cold or shock, Dean couldn't be sure, but he wasn't going to take a chance. He slid out of his jacket and laid it over Sam, tucking it over the younger man's chest in an effort to keep him warm. They needed to get out of here and fast; while the visible injuries didn't seem too severe, Dean had no idea what kind of internal injuries Sam may be suffering from.

He pulled out his phone and flipped it open. No signal, of course. Angrily, Dean flipped it shut and looked back up to the road. No one had seen them go over the edge so that meant help was all but non-existent right now. Still, he couldn't leave; leaving meant leaving Sam in the car, alone and injured. What if he lost consciousness again or what if his injuries worsened? What if he fell asleep and didn't wake-? Dean stopped himself from finishing the thought.

"-car?"

He frowned and looked down. "What?"

"How bad is the car…?" Sam asked again, his eyes only opened halfway and his breathing coming in short, shallow pants to ease some of the pain from his ribs.

"Ah jeez, Sammy…I'm not worried about the car right now…" He brushed the bloody hair from Sam's forehead gently and chewed on his lip. He needed to so something an quick or Sam may not make it. He remembered there was some kind of emergency number you could call even if you didn't have signal but he couldn't remember what it was. God dammit! They couldn't catch a break even if it was handed to them!

"Dean…look…" Sam said weakly, his dull eyes focused up at the windshield. "It's snowing…"

Tiny white flakes fell and scattered across the windshield. _Looks like its going to be a white Christmas after all…_Dean thought vaguely, tightening his grip on Sam to protect him from the cold. He looked down and touched the younger man's face gently. "Just hang on, Sammy…I'll get us out of here…"

Sam nodded slightly, his eyes closing slowly as he did.

"Sam? Sam?!" Dean shook him slightly, heart pounding in his chest. "Come on Sammy…don't do this now! Wake up Sam!" The younger man's pulse felt weaker beneath his fingertips and he felt his breath hitch. "No…no no no! Wake up Sam! God dammit!"

There was a suddenly banging on the window behind him and Dean jumped, turning around to see a man in a knit hat and a scarf peering inside at him. "Are you alright?!" He yelled through the window, looking down to see the unconscious young man in the passenger seat. "I saw you go off the road and called an ambulance! They'll be here any minute now!"

Dean felt a wave of relief wash through him; he had never been so glad to see a fellow motorist. "My brother's hurt bad!" He called back through the window, tightening his hold on Sam once more.

The man nodded and shed his jacket and the sweatshirt underneath. He opened the door carefully and passed the to Dean. "Here, use this. I think I heard sirens back up there." He said just as the dull flash of red and blue reflected off the trees up the road. "I'll be right back, I'm going to go flag them down!" And with that he was gone, rushing back up the bank of the ditch to the edge of the road.

Dean covered Sam with the man's jacket and sweatshirt, hoping it was doing some kind of good. "Just hang on Sammy…just hang on…"

**OOOOO**

Sam's head was throbbing, the muscles in his jaw tight and rigid even in sleep. It took his a few minutes to register his remaining senses, the pounding of his head taking up most of his focus. There were various machines beeping and buzzing somewhere above him and his mouth had a funny, coppery taste to it like he'd been sucking on a penny for some reason. Everything smell sterile, alcohol and disinfectant scrubbing down the surfaces thoroughly. Well that took care of sound, taste, touch, and scent. That just left sight.

Very slowly, Sam managed to open his eyes. Hello sight. The lights were bright, glaring down on him in an intense way that made him squint. Something thick and cottony was wrapped around his head and his chest and everything hurt, like he'd been thrown in a cement mixer going full speed. He groaned and tried to sit up a little straighter but a hand on his chest prevented that from happening.

"Easy kiddo…no moving around for you for a while."

Sam frowned, looking over slowly to see Dean sitting in a chair beside him. "Dean…?"

"The perfect one and only." The older man teased, his smile fading into a more serious look. "How ya feelin' Sammy?"

"Lousy…" Sam answered honestly, his muscles tightening even when he wasn't moving. "Feel like I got my ass kicked by the Hulk…"

"Well, it was tree but that's close enough…" Dean shrugged and leaned back in the chair. He had the beginnings of a bruise forming above one eyebrow and a busted lip but over all he looked alright.

Sam frowned, looking down at the bed. "Hospital?"

Dean chuckled. "Glad the wreck didn't scramble that big brain of yours too much. Yeah, hospital. You have three broken ribs and a concussion Mike Tyson would be jealous of. Docs said you'll be good to go in a few days."

Sam sighed and leaned back into the bed with a frown.

"Dude, what's wrong?"

For a second Sam didn't answer, apparently lost in his own thoughts. Finally, he spoke up. "Dude, we're in the hospital."

"Uh yeah, I got that genius…"

"On Christmas Eve!" Sam sighed in exasperation. "Jeez…I've been in the hospital like three times this year already…"(Me: Hah!)

Dean shrugged slightly. "Yeah, well it could always be worse." He offered and they both knew it was true. In their line of work, worse was always a possibility. "Look, maybe this will make you feel better." Dean stood and walked over to a table next to the door, picking up a tiny plant and walking back to the bed. "Check it out." It was a fern, one sold in the hospital gift shops, but it had been decorated with paper clips and cotton balls.

"What is it…?" Sam asked cautiously, gazing at the little fern with one eyebrow raised.

"Its a Christmas Tree." Dean answered.

"Its a Christmas Weed…"

"Well alright, Mr. Scrooge, don't appreciate my hard work." Dean huffed, setting the tree on the bedside table. "See if I try to be festive again anytime soon.

Sam laughed softly, wincing as the movement sent a sharp jolt of pain through his ribs. "It looks nice." He placated, looking over to one of the spare chairs on the other side of the room and noticing a jacket and a sweatshirt laid over the back of the chair. "What's that from?"

Dean looked over and frowned, his voice dropping a little. "I'm not sure actually…"

"You're not sure?"

The older man shrugged slightly and looked back at his brother. "Well, I think you were already unconscious by this point, but some guy showed up at the window telling me he'd called an ambulance. He gave me his jacket and sweatshirt to keep you warm and made sure the ambulance found us but when I talked to the paramedics they said there was no one there. They said they'd received a call from an unknown number giving them our location and that was it. There were no other cars on the road either…" Dean shrugged slightly and looked at the jacket. "I'm not much of a believer in angels or anything but…I don't know, I think that's a holy Christmas jacket or something…"

There was a brief silence, nothing more needed to be said at that moment. "Well," Sam said finally, fighting the urge to fall asleep again. "Whoever he was, I'm glad he came along…dying on Christmas Eve would suck…"

Dean smiled and nodded, squeezing his brother's hand gently. "Agreed Sammy…"

There was another silence and Dean was convinced Sam had drifted off again when the younger man spoke up. "Hey Dean…?"

"Yeah?"

"Merry Christmas…"

Dean smiled again. "Merry Christmas Sammy…" He settled back in the chair and turned on the TV, keeping it low so as not to wake the younger man. It didn't matter if they were in the hospital or on the road or even on a hunt over the holiday. He wasn't planning on going anywhere anytime soon and neither was Sam. After all, it was Christmas Eve and they were still alive and well and together, that's all that really mattered in the end.

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**Okay, so the whole angel thing was kind of a last minute addition O.o Originally he was just supposed to be a good Samaritan but I figured it fit a little better for the theme :D Hope you all liked it!! :D Happy Holidays!!**


	10. Claws

**Happy 2010!!! :D Hope you all had a fabulous one!! Here's a little bit of awesome big brother Dean for you ^.-**

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Dean cursed, planting his shoulder against the door to the motel room and digging into his pocket for the key. Damn this old hotel for having an actual lock and key; it made holding onto a barely conscious little brother and keeping them both upright that much harder. "Almost there Sammy…" He mumbled, digging for the key and managing to wrap his fingers around the cool metal. "Just hang on kiddo…" The younger man didn't answer and Dean didn't really expect him to. The startling amount of blood that covered his side was enough to ensure that fact.

It should have been a simple hunt. There were reports of a large, bear-like creature skulking around in the woods in Louisiana. There was no telling how long it had been there but one thing was for sure, it was causing a huge problem for the locals. While no humans had been hurt, the local livestock had become the main food supply and the creature had recently made a special appearance near a church and a day care. That's when the Winchester's were called on to the case. The town didn't want to sit around and wait for human flesh to suddenly appear on the menu.

The hunt had gone text book for the most part. They had tracked it, wounded it, and managed to corner it before things turned ugly. The creature was easily seven feet tall, an odd mix between a bear and a three-toed sloth, with long, razor-sharp claws that extended from its paws like organic blades. And it was powerful on top of all of that. Dean had gotten too close at one point and was sent flying into a tree, effectively knocking him out for the count.

Sam had gone in for the kill, firing expertly at the chest and head. The creature had flailed wildly at him, sharp claws aiming for soft flesh and muscle. Sam had fired the killing shot but not before the beast caught him along the back and side with its claws, ripping through fabric and flesh alike. When Dean came to, he found the creature dead and his little brother covered in enough blood to qualify him as a crime scene. Sam had tried to staunch the blood flow with his hands but the wound was too big and too deep for that. Dean had pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around the younger man, ignoring the way the blood slicked down the smooth leather and dripped to the leafy ground. Realizing that it was going to take a hell of a lot of explaining and patience that he didn't possess at the moment, Dean U-turned once they made it to the car and headed back to the motel instead of the hospital.

He'd managed to keep Sam at least semi-conscious throughout most of the trip, forcing him to speak and keep his eyes open, fearing that pain and blood loss would cause Sam to go into shock if he faded off. He'd broken nearly every speed limit in the ten miles to their motel and he frankly didn't care; Sam needed help and fast.

Now, shoving the brass key into the rusted lock, Dean was more carrying Sam than helping him walk. He staggered into the room, kicking their bags out of the way, and gently laid the younger man out across the closest bed. He immediately made his way to the bathroom and filled the ice bucket with water and wash cloths. The first aid kit was already on the counter next to the sink, a habit their father got them into at an early age; make sure the first aid kit is visible and easily accessible at all times. Dean snatched it off the counter, tucking it under one arm and grabbing the bucket with the other. He made his way back over to the bed and set everything on the bedside table, straightening it out so everything was easily at hand.

Sam hadn't moved since he'd laid him down, his pulse a weak shudder beneath Dean's fingertips. The older man cursed softly again and peeled away the jacket, catching his breath at the extent of the damage. Three deep gashes stretched from Sam's lower shoulder blade to nearly his hip, the skin shredded and flayed back from impact. Amazingly enough, it seemed that none of the organs had been damaged though there was the dim, pinkish gleam of a rib beneath the carnage. Dean sucked in his breath again, wincing in sympathy at his brother's wounds. There was an awful lot of blood and not that much Sam beneath all of it.

He grabbed one of the wash cloths and began to carefully wash away the fresh and dried blood that marred Sam's skin. It was a slow process, one that made Dean's stomach do uneasy flips as he went on. Sam was his one weakness, his only weakness, and seeing him injured like this did very bad things to his reserve. They'd been injured on hunts before, everything from broken bones to gunshot wounds, but it never made it any easier to see his baby brother like this: broken, pale and bleeding on some crummy motel bed. The sheets and comforter would be ruined by the time this was all said and done but it couldn't be helped; they always made sure to pay a damages deposit to any room they stayed in for this very reason.

Sam winced, his eyes squeezing shut slightly.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, pausing his cleaning. "Can you hear me, buddy?"

Sam winced again, fighting to open his eyes. Slowly, he blinked, focusing on the comforter for a few seconds to get his bearings. "D'n…?" He asked softly, the words broken and frail.

"Yeah, Sammy its me." Dean smiled softly, reaching up to smooth the hair away from his brother's face. "Just lay still, okay? I gotta patch you up…" He had silently hoped that Sam would stay unconscious for that part; it was going to hurt and they both knew it.

"-get it…?" Sam asked quietly.

"Yeah, Sammy. You got it." Dean cleaned away the last of the blood and dropped the crimson-stained rag bag into the bucket. Once all the blood was cleared away, the wounds actually didn't look too bad. "Okay, Sam…I'm going to have to stitch these closed, alright?"

Sam made some kind of non-committal noise and nodded weakly. "'kay…" The amount of sheer trust his brother had in him made Dean's chest clench.

He plucked a package of sterilized sutures from the first aid kit and went to work on the biggest gash, concerned with getting it closed first. Sam winced a few times, his fingers digging into the fabric of the bedspread and his breath coming in short, ragged pants. Dean did his best to sooth him, whispering nonsense over and over in an attempt to alleviate some of the pain. Once the first one was closed, it left the two smaller ones on either side, one of them including the wound that exposed Sam's rib. It was a miracle the bones had broken completely but Dean knew it was going to be a tricky one to stitch.

"…you okay…?" Sam asked weakly, glancing up from the comforter to look at his older brother.

Dean was confused for a second, wondering why Sam would be asking him if he was alright when he was the one being quilted back together on the bed. Then he remembered the hit he'd taken in the woods and nodded slowly. "Yeah Sammy…I'm fine."

"You're…bleeding…" Sam commented, noting the blood that covered his bother's shirt.

"S'not mine Sammy…" Dean corrected, squeezing his shoulder gently before starting at the other gash.

"Oh…" Sam grimaced, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw. Occasionally, his fists would clench on the bed, fingers tangling in the bedspread. He could faintly hear Dean talking above him, shushing him quietly and whispering words of comfort and encouragement. However, as much as he tried to remain conscious, to listen to his brother's voice, his body had other plans and he slowly faded into nothingness.

Dean noticed Sam's features go law once more and silently thanked God for him going unconscious again. At least now Sam wouldn't be in so much pain. He paused for a second to check his brother's pulse once more, noting that while it still wasn't very strong, it had evened out and was no longer in what he considered the danger zone. He sighed softly in relief and went back work, closing up the wounds carefully and accurately. It was going to leave a bitch of a scar, that was unavoidable, but it could always be worse.

Nearly an hour later, Dean finished with the last stitch and carefully bandaged his brother's side. He managed to lift Sam just enough to place him in the other bed and cover him with the blanket without waking him. The younger man was still dangerously pale but his breathing was slow and even and for now that was all Dean could ask for. He stripped the other bed of the bloodied comforter and sheets and tossed them in a heap against the opposite wall. They were going to have to extend their stay for a few days, there was no way Sam could travel in his condition, but Dean figured that could wait until morning.

He stood slowly, carrying the ice bucket filled with bloody water into the bathroom and dumping it into the tub. It had been a long night and his body cried for sleep but he couldn't allow it right now, not until he made sure Sam made it through the night. Scooting the overstuffed chair away from the door, he placed it next to Sam's bed and settled back into the cushions, content to watch the steady rise and fall of Sam's chest as he slept.

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**Hope you all liked it!! :D**


	11. Fever aka Claws 2

**Hey guys!! This is a sequel to Claws becuse I had a few requests to write a follow-up chapter :D So this is for you KKBElVIS and Clair Beaubien!! Hope you all like it!!**

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Murky darkness was the only thing that greeted Sam on his return to semi-consciousness. It was heavy, oppressing, smothering him in a suffocating blackness he couldn't escape. He didn't know what had happened, where he was or even how he got there; his mind felt like it was engulfed in the opaque haze his body was trapped in. Vague flashes of memory suddenly drifted into his consciousness. The hunt…trees…a gunshot followed by a yell…claws…blood…green eyes…always green eyes…Dean…Dean!

Sam tried to force himself into a somewhat productive motion; sitting up would be marvelous. Something grabbed him, strong, forceful, pinning him to the floor. He struggled slightly, wondering vaguely why it hurt so much to breathe and why he didn't have a weapon. Rule number one of the Winchester check list: always make sure you know where your weapon is. Scratch that out, he had no idea where _he_ was. He struggled harder; he needed to get to Dean. Dean was hurt, there had been blood all over him the last time Sam had checked and who knows how long ago that was. His brother was hurt, possibly worse, and Sam couldn't get to him faster enough.

He made a fist, angry at the fact that he could barely close his hand all the way, and swung sharply upward. Something caught his wrist, vice-like in its grip and the creature snarled above him. Shit! He was sure he'd killed it! He managed to open his eyes just enough to see a dark shape looming over him, growling ferally at the thrashing human. He needed to find Dean…he needed to get rid of this thing and find Dean. Damn, he wished he had a weapon.

The creature growled again, hot breath against his face like opening an oven. Sam grit his teeth, and shoved as hard as he could, gaining just enough momentum to knock the creature off balance. It fell to one side with snarl and suddenly it was back on him, more violent then ever. It was shaking him, probably trying to bash his head into a rock or something equally awful.

"-am…"

Sam felt his breath catch in his throat. Oh God, Dean was hurt! He needed to get to him! He needed to-

"-ammy..!"

Ugh! The stupid thing wouldn't let him go! If only he could find a stick or something to use as a-

"Sammy! Wake up!"

Something popped, like a bubble bursting in his mind, and suddenly the world began to fade back. He forced his eyes open again, blinking, staring up at the ceiling. He was in a room, not the forest, and there was no creature slinging him around like a rag doll, just a man hovering above him with concerned green eyes.

"Hey kiddo…you okay?" He recognized the voice, recognized the warm feeling of protection that spread through his chest at the sound.

"I…know you…" Sam said stupidly, awareness finally catching up with him. Dean. Dean was here, with him, not broken and bleeding in some God-forsaken forest.

"Well thank God for that…" Dean said with a sigh, releasing his hold on Sam's shoulders and sitting back slightly, his eyes never leaving the younger man's face.

Sam blinked a few more times, trying to make sense of everything around him. Everything hurt, his chest, his head, his arms and legs; it was like being hit by a steamroller. Skin stretched tight and painful against his ribs, tape and thick bandages clinging to him like a second skin. What the hell happened.

Something cold was suddenly placed over his forehead and he jumped in surprise, eyes widening slightly. "Shh…its okay…" Dean said above him, straightening the washcloth with one hand and patting the thick comforter over Sam's chest with the other. "I'm trying to bring your fever down…" He went on, his voice echoing like they were stuck in a large plastic tube.

"Fever…?" Sam asked softly, wondering if that was the reason his head felt like it was full of packing peanuts.

Dean nodded slightly, reaching beneath the blankets to extract one of Sam's arms and pull it out into the open. Sam shivered as the icy air made contact with his skin. "We've been here for the better part of three days," His brother continued, reaching into a bag next to the bed and pulling out a small glass vial and a packaged syringe. "You've been in and out for most of it…mostly out." He unpacked the syringe and inserted the needle into the vial, pulling out a measured amount.

Sam shivered again, trying desperately to listen to whatever his brother was saying, but it was hard to stay awake. He felt like sandbags had been placed over his eyes and were slowly pulling down with each passing- "Ow…" He gasped suddenly, a sharp pain burning into the crease of his arm.

"Sorry." A voice said from above him, a cold hand coming to rest on his face. He blinked up and saw Dean staring down at him again. "You okay…?"

Sam shook his head weakly. He'd never felt this horrible before, hot and cold mixing together like a lava lamp of sensation. His head was reeling and he felt like he was trapped on a ship that was the puck in a game of hockey between waves. The hand at his face slid down slowly, cool fingers pressing gently against his throat. He swallowed weakly on reflex, feeling his heart pounding against the probing fingertips. He'd heard the same throbbing rhythm in his head but didn't feel like connecting the two. The hand moved away and he suddenly missed the contact, eyes squeezing shut slightly.

"Well, you're still fighting a hell of an infection Sammy, but its not as bad has been." The voice sounded relieved and resigned at the same time.

"Infection…?" The word sounded weak and far away.

"Yeah." An arm snaked around his shoulders and pulling him up slowly. Even knowing who it was, Sam couldn't stop himself from tensing sharply at the sudden shift in gravity. "Easy Sammy…its just me…" A voice breathed in his ear, propping him up against something warm and solid. He relaxed almost instantly, unable to struggle even if he wanted to. "That thing in the woods really did a number on you…decided it wanted Sam-kebab the other night…" Steady hands slowly and carefully removed the tacky bandages from his side and Sam grit his teeth as the air made contact with his abused skin. "It cut into you pretty deep, leaving God knows what in the wounds…" There were more words, drifting, floating past him like clouds, but he couldn't make them out; Sam was losing what little grip he had left on consciousness. "…so you've been living off penicillin for the past two days, little brother." Dean said, something cold and uncomfortable pressing against his side. Sam gasped, shifting weakly away from the touch. "Easy kiddo…I gotcha…" Another hand (how many hands did Dean have?!) came up to card slowly through his hair. "I gotcha…"

It was cold, colder than it had any right to be, and Sam shivered against suddenly, his body aching from the force of the tremors. There was a sound of tape being ripped and packages being opened but he didn't have the energy to open his eyes and look. Cloth was pressed to his injured side, tape clinging to skin, and Sam continued to shiver. The hand that had been smoothing away his hair came to rest on his forehead, staying there for a few seconds.

"Feels like your fever's beginning to break." There was a smile in the voice that Sam couldn't see but he could hear it.

"…lucky…me…" He breathed, words becoming harder to form and verbalize.

"Yeah, lucky you." Dean said, pulling the comforter up over Sam but not moving away. "If it kept up I was about to drag your ass to the hospital."

Sam wanted to say something else but he didn't have the energy. He felt himself falling, spinning out of control like a toy airplane that had its circuits fried. He grasped for something, anything to hold onto when something grabbed his hand.

"I gotcha Sammy…" A voice whispered from somewhere way up above him. "I'm right here…"

Sam felt himself relax again, and felt like he could take a deep breath for the first time days. He shifted just slightly, enough to where his cheek was pressed against the warmth of Dean's chest. There was a deep sound next to his ear; constant, comforting, safe. For the first time since he was a baby, Sam fell asleep to the sound of his brother's heartbeat.

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**Hope you guys enjoyed!! :D**


	12. CPR

**My witchy-bitch of a muse thought this up one day at work O.o Blame her! Hehe, hope you all ike it!! :D**

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Spending the entire day in a rented out classroom in the city rec center learning CPR was entirely not the thing Dean wanted to be doing with his Saturday. He'd used every excuse from freshman football practice, to homework, even offering to run the brutal obstacle course their dad set up in the field behind their apartment to not take the course but to no avail; their father insisted that by the age of 14 Dean should know basic First Aid and CPR. Their line of work was dangerous, sure, but come on, when was he ever going to need to know any of this?

Dean sighed, flipping through the worn out First Aid book that had obviously been used for every class for the past ten years. The pages were a dingy yellowish color from all the fingers that had touched them and some of the corners were dog-eared and had been for who knows how long. This sucked...Sammy was spending the day learning trapping spells and how to exercise low level spirits and he was stuck here with a bunch of people who were probably only taking this course so they could go back to work. There weren't even any hot girls in here! He'd agreed to come on the sole idea that there would be at least one attractive girl in the class that he could team up with and practice "mouth-to-mouth" so to speak. But no, the youngest woman in here was in her thirties and appeared to be just as enthused about the class as he was.

Dean sighed again, half-heartedly taking notes as the instructor spoke. There would be a test at the end of the course and he sure as hell didn't want to fail and take the class over. It was just past 1:30 and they'd already covered the basics of shock, respiratory failure and CPR, using those creepy mannequins with the perpetually closed eyes and the half-opened mouths. They were unsettling to say the least and there was no telling how many people had put their mouths on them during the years they'd been here. That thought alone was enough to make Dean want to gag. They were moving into bandaging and splints now, two things Dean was pretty sure he didn't need a book for. He'd learned how to patch his Dad and brother up at a pretty early age and unless it was a freakin' amputated limb, he was pretty sure he could handle basic wound dressings with very little effort. He stole a glance at the clock and slouched even more into his seat. Not even two o'clock yet...he still had five hours left. With a deep, resigned breath, he turned his attention back to the instructor and settled in for the wait.

**OOOOO**

It had been four months since the First Aid class and Dean still hadn't found any use for it. He passed the test and got a spiffy little American Red Cross card to show for it but it wasn't really a topic brought up in conversations very often. The cute brunette in his Spanish class thought it was pretty impressive though so at least there was that, but aside from that, the class hadn't proved itself useful. Sam was a cautious hunter and usually managed to avoid getting pounded on, impaled, bitten, or otherwise horribly maimed on the hunts simply because he paid attention and their Dad could patch himself up most of the time so Dean's newly polished First Aid skills went dormant.

The creaking of the staircase brought him back to reality and he looked up the winding stair case to the second story flat. The hospital had been abandoned for years, the walls and floors charred by the fire that had closed it down. Recent construction had awakened some rather hostile spirits and the company had to stop completely when the workers refused to go into the remains of the building anymore. Apparently being shoved down the stairs, having bricks and broken glass thrown at you, and having your arms and backs shredded by unseen forces tends to halt construction indefinitely.

The hospital consisted of two floors and a basement so that meant one floor for each hunter. The most violent activity tended to happen in the basement where the fire originated so their father had offered to take that level, sending the boys to the upper floors to handle things up there. Dean took the first floor, Sammy took the second. The plan was simple: find the center-most room of that floor, directly above the origin of the fire, and perform a releasing spell so that spirits were no longer bound to the hospital grounds. The typical salt and burn didn't apply here because the victims of the fire had long since been retrieved and buried in cemeteries all over the country so they were rather limited with their resources.

"Dean, can you hear me?" There was a crackle of static from the walkie-talkie at his hip and a chair suddenly levitated and flew across the room, splintering against the wall. Dean winced at the collision but held his ground. Intimidation techniques won't work on me Casper he thought, looking at the busted chair and reaching for the walkie-talkie. "Yeah Dad, I hear you."

"Good. Make sure you and Sam get into position soon, I think the spooks are getting restless."

Dean's eyes drifted back to the broken chair. "Yeah, I can tell."

"Yeah, well they're going to get even more pissed off when we start the spell. They're going to try anything they can to make you stop but don't let them. Hold your ground and stay sharp." The radio crackled out and there was an unspoken message in the silence: tell Sammy.

Dean flipped channels, hearing static faintly from the floor above him. "Sammy?"

"Yeah?" Came the reply a few seconds later.

"Listen, things are going to start to get ugly once we start this. You got everything you need?"

There was a pause before the radio kicked on again. "Yeah, I have everything with me."

"Good, now Dad said they're going to get pretty pissed once we start the spell, you know, throwing things and shit. Finish the spell no matter what Sam, understand?"

"Got it." And the radio crackled off.

Dean couldn't help feel a rush of pride when he thought of his brother. Most ten year olds were busy with baseball and boy scouts but Sam spent his free time chasing things that go bump in the night. He'd already seen more action at ten than most soldiers do in the line of duty.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Dean walked to the center of the room and knelt down, tracing an intricate pattern onto the charred floor with white chalk. He traced the symbols perfectly, matching them to the ones he'd seen in the book their father always carried. He pulled out a slip of paper from his pocket and began reciting the incantation in slow, deliberate words. Almost immediately, the room came to life and it was out for blood. Chairs flew across the room, the remains of a table slid toward him, and broken glass sliced through the air like daggers. Dean kept chanting, side-stepping each obstacle aimed at him, and keeping a clear distance of the window. He had no doubt a spirit would try to through him out of it if he got too close. Not a far fall but not one he wanted to make regardless.

The spell was almost complete, he could hear things crashing around in the room above him and figured Sammy was playing dodgeball with random hospital furnishings as well. A heavy piece of wood flew by and caught him in the side of the head, sending him sprawling to the ground. Blood, warm and sticky, flowed down from his hairline and dripped onto the floor. This had gone on for long enough. Keeping his eyes on the paper, he read the final passage, loud and clear, and then pulled a lighter from his pocket, lighting the tips of the paper and watching it burn. It was oddly ironic: the spirits were trapped by fire but released by fire as well. As soon as the paper burned away to nothing, the activity stopped all at once; chairs fell to the floor in a heap, broken glass shattered as it fell as well, and the room became silent.

Dean waited for a few minutes, listening for any sign that it wasn't over. After about five minutes of silence, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and flipped on the walkie-talkie. "All done on my end, Dad."

"Same here," Came the garbled reply. "But I have to find another way out, the door's blocked down here."

Dean nodded in acknowledgment. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." There was muffled scratching and shuffling around as the older hunter tried to make his way out of the basement. "How'd Sam do?"

"I'll check." Dean flipped the channels again and waited for the static to clear. "Sammy? You done?" Nothing but silence greeted him on the other channel. "Sam? Come on man, answer me this isn't funny." Still nothing.

Dean felt a sick sinking in his gut and it felt like he couldn't breathe. "Sam!" Cursing softly at the persistent silence, he flipped the channel back to his father's and was already on his way out of the room. "Dad, I think somethings wrong..."

The hallways were dark, broken tables and desks littering the ground as he walked. Dean ignored all of it, he needed to find his brother. There were three central rooms to choose from: an operating room, a consultation room, and a recovery room and of course he hadn't asked Sam which one he was going to be in. A quick scan of the operating room and the consultation room revealed nothing so that could only mean Sam was in the recovery room.

The door swung open with no effort and Dean stepped inside. "Sammy, you okay-?" He started but the words died in his throat as his eyes fell on his little brother. "Shit! Sammy!"

The younger boy was tangled in a bed sheet, an unseen force keeping a tight grip on the length around his throat. Sam's hands were wrapped loosely around the sheet as well, a dying effort to prevent being strangled that hadn't seemed to work.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, darting across the room to his brother's aid. Something heavy, like an arm, caught him across the chest and he clattered to the floor with a thud. The spirit flickered in and out of his sight, a middle aged man with charred features and dead eyes. He glared at Dean and tightened the sheet even more, determined to take Sam with him to the grave. The younger boy's hands fell away and his body was limp beneath the sheet.

"No!" Dean cried, jumping up and running at him again. He stopped, his eyes falling on the sheet of paper the spell had been written on. Sam had finished it, there was a small burned corner on one side, but he had been attacked before the ritual could be completed. Jerking the lighter out of his pocket, Dean flicked the flame to life and lit the paper once more, holding it out for the spirit to see. "Game over, fright night." He growled, watching as the paper burned away in his hand. "Let my brother go!"

The spirit scowled, dropping the sheet and making a flying lunge for Dean. He got about halfway across the room before his body flickered once and disappeared all together, leaving the room in nothing but silence. Dean didn't waste the time to see if he was coming.

He bolted across the room, sliding to his knees next to his brother. "Sammy! Come on kiddo, answer me!" He cried desperately, tearing the sheet away from Sam's throat and shaking him roughly. "Sam!" He yelled again, cupping his brother's face and praying for any sign of life. Sam didn't respond, his face pale and eyes closed lightly as if he were sleeping. Actually, he looked dead. "Oh God…oh God…" Dean whispered, pressing his fingers to Sam's throat and closing his eyes, praying for a pulse. There was nothing. "Oh shit…Sammy…" He gasped, pulling his hand away and leaning over, pressing an ear to Sam's frighteningly still chest. He listened carefully, holding his breath and waiting. No heartbeat. No breathing. Sam wasn't breathing. Shit!

A flood of panic filled Dean's chest and he felt like he couldn't breathe either. He'd spent his whole life protecting Sam and the minute he wasn't there Sam had been killed- "No!" He shook his head sharply, forcing those thoughts away. His body went into autopilot, his mind following along as he titled Sam's head back and began breathing for him. He could see the slight rise and fall of his brother's chest out of the corner of his eye and was at least thankful for that. _Come on Sammy…breathe…don't do this to me bro…come on…_The words became a mantra in his head as he continued to breathe for his brother, begging for it to work. He straightened slightly and positioned his hands over Sam's heart, pressing down rhythmically and counting softly with each compression. "One…two…three…four…come on Sammy, don't you do this to me now…eight…nine…breathe dammit…!"

He finished the cycle of compressions and leaned back down, repositioning Sam's head and delivering two more breaths. He could feel tears welling in his eyes, stinging and burning, but he refused to let them fall, swiping his arm across his eyes to prevent them from trailing down his cheeks. "Sammy please…" He begged, sitting back up and starting another cycle of chest compressions again.

There was a shudder beneath his hands, a jerking cough that ripped itself from Sam's chest. The younger boy gasped, coughing sharply and taking deep ragged breaths.

"That's my boy Sammy…" Dean cried in relief, scooping his little brother into his arms and holding him close. "Just breathe Sam…deep breaths…you're okay...I gotcha…"

"De-" Sam started but another bout of coughing stopped him from continuing.

"Shh…easy Sam; breathe now, words later."

The younger boy nodded weakly, taking a few deep, uneven breaths. Dean couldn't bring himself to speak either, he simply held onto his brother like a lifeline, burying his face in his hair and closing his eyes. _Thank God…_

"Dean? Sam?" Their dad's voice rang through the hallway and a few seconds later he appeared in the doorway. His eyes widened slightly when he saw Sam being cradled in Dean's lap and he rushed into the room. "What happened?" He demanded, looking both boys over carefully.

"A spirit got the drop on Sam…" Dean said, his voice shaking as he spoke. "It tried to strangle him…"

Their father's eyes widened even further and he leaned closer, examining the ugly red marks on his youngest son's throat. He let out a breath through his teeth, fingers ghosting over the marks. "Looks like it really did a number on you huh, kid?"

Sam nodded weakly, smiling in spite of himself. "Yeah, Dean took care of it though…" He whispered, the sheer admiration and devotion in his voice making tears spring to the older boy's eyes once more.

Desperate to hide his embarassment, Dean shrugged it off casually. "Yeah, well I didn't want to be your first kiss Sammy but I figured you should live long enough to have a real one." He smiled as Sam rolled his eyes.

"You did good son." His father said from beside him, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder warmly. "I'm proud of you."

Dean smiled again and helped Sam stand slowly, watching as his father swung his brother onto his back in spite of his protests. True, the First Aid course may have been boring and seemingly pointless, but at that moment Dean had never been more thankful he'd paid attention in class.

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**Wow, that was a very PSA ending, huh? =P Hope you guys enjoyed!!**


	13. Sprain

**Just a short little one-shot I wanted to play with. Hope you liked it!! :D**

**Ack!! I meant to add this earlier: Sammy is about 10-ish in this story so that makes Dean around 14. :D**

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Sam darted through the trees, long, dark branches whipping past his face, tearing into skin and clothing alike. He could hear it behind him, heavy, thundering footsteps getting closer with each stride. He rounded a tree just as a set of claws that could have filleted him without a second thought ripped through the bark. The beast snarled at the miss and swung around the tree in pursuit once more.

Sam pushed himself to run faster, trying desperately to remember all of the tricks and advice his father and brother had given him before the hunt. Only silver weapons work on werewolves…the full moon thing is myth…they have excellent sense of smell and hearing…fleeing prey is their favorite plaything…dammit. Oh, and they're fast. Stupid fast…faster than he was.

There was a gunshot somewhere behind him and he was vaguely aware that in the darkness the chances of him getting shot by accident were much higher. Great. Not only was he about to become Kibbles 'n' Bits but he was going to get a back full of silver buckshot too. Taking down the were wolf was supposed to be Dad and Dean's job and Sam was supposed to watch the perimeter since he was too young to handle a gun without supervision but it never worked out they way they planned. The werewolf had appeared behind him, not in front of Dean or his dad, but him. He had no weapon other than a flashlight and pocketknife that needed close range to do any good. Getting close to a werewolf meant teeth and claws. No thank you.

"Sammy!!" Dean called from behind him but he was too busy running from his life to really pay attention or call back. He was probably trying to tell him to quit running, running usually makes things worse, but that seemed to be the best option right now. Fido wasn't going to give him any chances if he caught up with him…

There was another shot, a yelp, and the werewolf barreled into him. Surprised, Sam half-turned, his foot catching in between a tree root and sending him sprawling. There was a sharp, painful twist and he felt the dead weight of the wolf on top of him as he fell. Too bad the tree he tripped over happened to be on the edge of a steep hill. Sam tucked awkwardly, trying to protect himself as best he could, but the fall was anything but gentle and with a wolf the size of a Volkswagen toppling along next to him, he didn't really think it was going to be a pleasant decent. His head connected with a tree branch, or a rock, or something else natured decided to throw at him in that moment, and he was lost in the darkness of unconsciousness long before he ever hit the ground.

**OOOOO**

"-ammy…!"

Words hurt. Sound hurt. God, life hurt.

"Sammy…can you hear me…?"

"Son?" Hands on his face, prying his eyes open and damn that hurt even more. Relieved sigh. "Jesus Christ kiddo, don't do that again, you hear me?" The voice was strict but relieved at the same time.

"Mphhm…" Sam meant to say "okay" but that's what came out. He blinked again, squeezing his eyes shut slightly and wincing. His father was saying something above him, distant and far away and-holy shit, Dean was in his line of vision suddenly.

"Hey Sammy, we're going to sit up nice and slow okay? Think you can do that, little brother?"

Something else strange and muffled came out of his mouth that was supposed to mean "okay" but Sam didn't have the energy to correct himself. Gentle fingers touched his forehead, right above his eyebrow, and he winced, shying away from the hand. "Easy kiddo…" A soft curse. "Jeez, you're going to have one hell of a shiner, man…Chicks totally dig shiners." Dean chuckled but became serious once more. "Are you hurt anywhere else? Did you hit anything?"

"Ankle…" Sam mumbled, wincing as the world tilted a bit. Yay for concussions.

"You hit your ankle?"

Sam nodded slowly, swaying a bit. "Yeah, I twisted it when I fell…"

Dean nodded and reached down, carefully probing both of Sam's ankles. Even gentle hurt like hell and Sam couldn't stop the wince. "Ah…"

Dean stopped immediately, looking at his younger brother with concerned eyes. "This one?" He asked, hand hovering above Sam's right ankle. Sam nodded shakily, certain something was broken by how sore it was. With slow, careful movements, Dean rolled up his pants leg and examined the injured limb. The ankle was swollen and discolored, splotches of purple and blue spreading over the abused skin already. "Jeez Sammy…can't take the easy way out of anything can you?"

Sam couldn't stop the tears as Dean gently pressed into the tender flesh. "I-Is is broken…?"

There was a pause, a frown, and then a shake of the head. "Nah…I don't think you broke anything…probably just a good sprain. Nothing some ice and few painkillers won't take care of."

Sam wasn't listening. He was looking over as his father poked and prodded the motionless man on the ground. The shot had taken out a good portion of the man's back and chest, nearly severing his arm in the process. There was no way he was coming back. "Dad's going to be mad…" Sam mumbled softly, knowing that running was the worst thing he could have done and he did it anyway.

Dean frowned slightly and shook his head. "No Sammy, dad's not going to be mad. He was just worried when we couldn't find you…hell, we both were." He offered Sam a comforting smile, ruffling his hair gently. "None of us could have predicted the wolf would show up behind you."

Before Sam could respond, his father dropped down into his line of vision, dark eyes scanning his face carefully. "How ya feelin' kiddo?" He asked, gently brushing his thumb over the tender bruise above Sam's eyebrow.

Sam winced and hung his head. "I'm sorry…I shouldn't have run…"

His father straightened a bit, looking at his youngest carefully. "You're right, you shouldn't have run."

Sam flinched again, but not from pain this time, keeping his eyes on the ground.

"But I'm glad you did. If you hadn't, that wolf probably would have made you a midnight snack." His father smiled, squeezing his shoulder lightly. He looked down at the injured ankle and whistled softly. "Let's get back to the hotel and wrap that ankle up, okay?"

Sam nodded slightly, knowing he couldn't have protested even if he wanted to. His ankle was throbbing in time with his heartbeat and his head wasn't doing much better. He wanted to sleep but with the probably-concussion he had, he knew that wouldn't be coming anytime soon and-oh God, Dean in his line of vision again. "Up we go, Sam." His older brother said, swinging him onto his back like a backpack.

The sudden change in altitude made Sam's head spin and he hid his face in Dean's neck, squeezing his eyes shut to tame some of the dizziness. "You gunna be sick?" Dean asked over his shoulder and Sam shook his head against his neck. "Alright, well if you throw up on me I'm leaving you in the woods.

"Dean." Their father warned though there was no threat in his voice.

Dean laughed softly and nodded. "Just hang on tight, Sammy. We'll be home soon."

The slow, steady gait of his brother's walk was like being rocked by ocean waves. Sam's eyes slipped a few times and he tried to stay awake but it was no use. Nuzzling his face a little deeper into Dean's neck and shoulder, Sam relaxed against his brother's shoulder and fell in a dreamless sleep.

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**Super short but hopoefully it was good :D**


	14. Mr Harris

**Hello my darlings!! Wow, 200 reviews!! Ya'll make me want to cry!! *super hug!* Okay, so I tried something a little different with this one-shot: I tried writing in past tense. I know, it seems really weird O.o Hopefully its not too bad though!! Hope you all like it!! :D**

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Sam was fourteen the first time he ever killed anything. Well, anything that appeared remotely human. It was an old man named Mr. Harris who lived in the same apartment complex they did. They had never had any problems with him before, hell most people never even saw him; he tended to keep to himself most of the time. He had no notable family members and never had any visitors in the entire twelve years he'd been living in the building. The only person who had ever talked to him, ever bothered to carry on a conversation, had been Sam.

It was an unusual friendship, one that had come about as Sam was taking out the trash one night. Mr. Harris was trying to throw away an old wicker chair that had finally succumbed to age and fallen apart. The chair was huge though, much bigger than the old man could handle, and Sam offered to help him. From that point on, they had an awkward friendship that no one could explain. Sam would often talk to him before he got on the bus in the morning (the bus stop was right in front of Mr. Harris' apartment) and Mr. Harris would greet him when he got home in the afternoon. They were cordial and friendly to one another and there were never any indications of trouble with the older man. That's why it took Sam by surprise when he burst into their apartment one night, wielding a hatchet in a frenzied, murderous rage.

Sam had gotten home late that day, having stayed after school for a student council meeting. Sure, their lives may be all kinds of weird but he at least tried to appear normal to the outside world. He played football, participated in student council, and tried to maintain all A's in the midst of the craziness he called a home life. Their father was off on another hunt tonight and probably wouldn't be back until the next day or even later. Dean was working at the local grocery store and usually got off around 7. It was 5:45, just enough time to clean up the living room and get dinner started.

He placed a pot of water on the stove, deciding spaghetti would be the quickest and easiest thing for the evening. While he was waiting for that to boil, he pulled out his Algebra homework and began working though the problems that had been assigned that night. He'd gotten about half-way through when there was a loud bang outside the front door. It sounded like something being thrown into the wood. Standing cautiously, Sam walked toward the door, the muscles in his back stiffening as he inched closer. He could feel the hairs on his arms standing up and his stomach had tied itself in the tight knots it always did whenever he was about to get into a confrontation with something that went bump in the night. The last thing he expected was for Mr. Harris to kick the door in, a small, but no-less deadly hatchet clutched in his hand.

Sam had tried to talk to him, saying his name over and over in an attempt to gain some recognition from the older man. If he'd heard him at all he gave no indication. In a blur of movement that was much too fast for the old man to accomplish by himself, he lunged at Sam, slashing at him with the hatchet. Sam toppled backward, the blade of the weapon imbedded in the chair he'd been standing next to.

Sam jumped to his feet, putting distance between himself and the old man. He didn't want to hurt him but all attempts at talking him down had failed so far. He needed something heavy, heavy enough to knock him unconscious without killing him. Dammit, nearly every weapon they had was in the back of the Impala which was with their father. Something flew past him, catching his arm sharply and drawing blood. The hatchet buried itself in the wall next to him. Before he could react again, Mr. Harris was on top of him.

The collision was enough to knock both of them to the ground in a heap of flailing limbs and furniture. Sam tried as hard as he could to push the old man off but it was no use, it was like wrestling with an iron beam. There was no way he could be this strong, he was at least 85 but he fought like a 20 year old profession MMA fighter. Wrinkled hand wrapped around his throat, squeezing tight and Sam grit his teeth, kicking up sharply and knocking the old man off balance. When Mr. Harris sprawled to the floor, Sam had jumped back to his feet and grabbed the gun Dean kept in the silverware drawer (thank God for paranoid older brothers).

Mr. Harris glared at the gun, his eyes sharp and deadly like the hatchet he'd had earlier. Sam tried to talk to him again, tried to reason with him, anything to prevent him from using the gun on the old man. He'd fired a gun plenty of times, he'd learned to shoot when he was seven but only when his dad or brother were watching. He'd been trained to be a hunter his entire life and had never hesitated to pull the trigger when he needed to. But Mr. Harris was…human. He was a frail old man who lived alone and talked to Sam nearly every day. He was-

Mr. Harris dove at him, grabbing the hatchet from the wall and holding it high above his head, ready to swing it down for the killing blow. Sam fired twice, hitting him squarely in the chest. The old man faltered slightly, his eyes widening as blood gushed from both wounds. He looked surprised, shocked almost that Sam had shot him, and he looked at the younger man with confused eyes. He only said one word as he fell forward, hands groping blindly. "Sam…"

He landed on top of the younger man, blood pooling against Sam's shirt and on his jeans. For a few seconds Sam couldn't move, he was too stunned to do much of anything. Finally, hunter mode kicked back in and he set to work with triage. There was too much blood, too much. Mr. Harris wasn't breathing, he had no pulse, he was dead. Sam had killed him. It was surreal, almost like a dream, and Sam couldn't move.

Dean got home about an hour later, his eyes narrowing sharply when he noticed the busted door. He ran into the room, his breath hitching in his throat when he saw his younger brother, covered in blood, back pressed against the kitchen cabinets with an old man sprawled in front of him. Dean ignored the old man, the only thing he was worried about was Sam.

The younger boy was shaking all over, his face pale and his eyes staring down at the body of the old man absently. "I shot him…I shot him…" He whispered over and over, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room.

Dean wasn't listening, he was too busy trying to find out where all the blood had come from and how severe Sam's injuries were. There was so much blood, it was everywhere, all over the floor, all over the carpet, all over Sam. Where was it all coming from? He asked Sam where he was hurt, took his face in his hands and made him look at him.

Tears were streaming down the younger boy's face. "It's his…" He whispered, voice choking in the back of his throat. "He's dead…I killed him…"

Dean glanced at the old man, noticing a small mark at the base of his skull. It was a strange symbol, one that had been made recently, and it was probably what had made the old man attack in the first place. Dean sighed, content in the fact that this was self-defense, but it didn't mean anything to his brother. Sam was in shock, his breath coming short, shallow pants and his body trembling all over. "Sammy, I want you to stay here, okay? I'm going to take care of this." Dean had told him though he was pretty sure Sam hadn't heard a word of it. He gathered the old man in sheet and took him into the open field behind their apartment. There had been a few night were a salt and burn had taken place in the field and no one had raised any questions yet. There was a deep pit, covered in sticks and lumber, and thank God most of the burning reduced the bodies into little more than bone fragments. Dean dropped the old man's body into the pit, covered in in rock salt and dropped a match into the pit. The fire would burn for hours, destroying what was left of Mr. Harris and whatever had been controlling him.

Dean had returned to the apartment, finding Sam still sitting on the floor. He tried to talk to him, calling him "Sammy" and "Samantha" and all the other names that normally pissed him off, but Sam wouldn't respond. As far as he could tell, aside from the cut on his arm, Sam was physically alright but that meant nothing for his mental state. As gently as he could, he gathered Sam into his arms, hugging him close and rubbing his back slowly. He whispered nonsensical reassurances, words that meant nothing, hoping something was getting through.

Finally, Sam broke. He let out a hitched sob that he'd been holding for no telling how long and buried his face in his brother's shoulder. His shoulders shook with sobs and he gripped Dean's shirt like a lifeline. Dean simply held him, letting him cry as he released Molotov cocktail of emotions he was dealing with. He remembered the first time he'd killed an actual person, granted they had been possessed by a demon, but it was a person nonetheless. God, that had been a rough night. He knew Sam's wasn't going to be any better.

They sat like that for a long time, water boiling over the edge of the pot and sizzling as it came in contact with the flames below. Finally, Dean managed to pull Sam away from the kitchen and into the bedroom they shared. Their room was a mess of clothes and maps, books on various spirits and creatures, lists of cases based on levels of importance, and everything in between. Dean steered Sam toward his side of the room, figuring a change of clothes was the first thing that should be taken care of.

Sam dropped onto the bed like a puppet with its strings cut, his hair falling across his eyes and shielding his face. He changed out of the blood stained clothes mechanically, his movements stiff and automatic. Dean recognized the motions; Sam was on autopilot right now, reacting more than anything. He didn't react when Dean cleaned the cut on his arm and stitched it closed nor did he react when Dean told him Mr. Harris had been possessed, he simply looked at his older brother with the same wide-eyed, lost look that Dean had found him with when he first got home. The older boy sighed; he wanted so badly to tell Sam everything would be alright but he knew it wasn't and never would be, Sam would live with this the rest of his life.

Dean started to stand, he needed to call their father and let him know what had happened. A small fist shot out, catching the hem of his shirt and gripping it tightly. He looked down to see Sam clinging to him in a way he hadn't done since he was five. "Please stay…" He whispered softly and Dean didn't have the heart to leave.

With a small nod, he dropped back onto the bed next to his brother, wrapping an arm around the younger boy's shoulders and holding him close. Sam didn't sleep that night, he laid there all night, trembling like a leaf and blinking back tears. Dean didn't say anything, there was nothing he could say to make it any better, so he just held on, offering what comfort he could. Sam would be alright, he would move on, but this night would haunt him forever. This night would haunt both of them forever.

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**Poor Sammy, I just can't give him a break. Hope you guys liked it!! :D**


	15. Concussion

**Ahh, nothing like a good concussion to start off the week =P**

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Being a hunter meant seeing some terrible things. He'd seen creatures that even people's worst nightmares weren't made of. He'd seen victims dismembered and torn apart in the most gruesome, unimaginable way possible. He'd seen things that would made seasoned homicide detectives cringe and run home to their mothers. Dean Winchester had seen horrible things, but nothing terrified him more than the sight of his brother's body slamming into the brick wall lining the cemetery and watching as he crumpled bonelessly to the ground like a rag doll. His breath caught in his throat, mind going blank, and he felt as if someone had literally ripped his heart out and stomped it into the freshly turned grave dirt.

It was supposed to be a simple salt and burn; a poltergeist was causing a disruption in the neighboring community and it was beginning to get steadily more violent. The man's grave was new enough, only about a year or so, and it was clearly marked. This case seemed pretty cut and dry. They didn't expect the violent burst of paranormal energy upon opening his casket though. The second the lid was pried back, it was like standing in the epicenter of an earthquake. The ground trembled and roiled, tossing them back and forth like bath toys in an undertow. Obviously, this guy wasn't going down without a fight.

Dean grabbed the salt out of his pocket, dumping it on the body and trying to keeping from being crushed against the walls of the grave at the same time. The ground lurched beneath his feet, knocking him to the side and slamming him into the dirt. Sam was above him, grappling with his own set of problems, and trying desperately to get the match into the grave to end this once and for all. Dean felt something grab the back of his shirt and lift, throwing him out of the grave and onto the damp grass next to it. He slid across the grass, back colliding with a marble angel and knocking the wind out of him for a split second. The same presence held him down firmly, controlling and overwhelming.

"Dean!" Sam cried, freeing himself from whatever was attacking him and running to his brother's aid. Something, probably the same force, swiped him away effortlessly, pitching him into the solid brick wall lining the edge of the graveyard. Sam's body connected with the wall with a sickening thud and he collapsed to the ground, unmoving.

Dean's eyes widened and he struggled more forcefully against the force. "Sam! Sammy!" He twisted sharply to the side, breaking the hold for just long enough. The matches had landed a few feet away; all he needed was one. He grabbed the box, striking a match and throwing it into the grave, already running across the graveyard to his brother as an unearthly howl echoed through the silence. The body crackled and burned, lighting the surrounding gravesites in a brilliant orange glow but Dean didn't pay any attention. All he saw was Sam.

The younger man lay unmoving against the wall, his long legs and arms sprawled like a broken doll. He was a sickening shade of grey, blood coating one side of his face and slipping down the side of his neck into the collar of his shirt. From the way he was positioned, it was hard to tell if he was breathing or not.

Dean slid to his knees beside him, fearing the worst. "Sammy?!" He called desperately, gripping his little brother's shoulder as he landed next to him. "Sam?!" Sam didn't respond, his breathing shallow and pulse slow and sluggish beneath his brother's fingers. "Oh God…Sam…" Dean breathed, his fingers slick with Sam's blood. It made his stomach turn, a cold, unnatural feeling welling in his chest. This wasn't right…it was his job to protect Sammy, not get his skull cracked open.

Sam's eyelids twitched slightly, his hands moving reflexively, fingers curling and uncurling. Glassy, unfocused hazel eyes opened slightly and he blinked. "De…?"

"Right here, kiddo." Dean said above him, unable to keep the relief out of his voice. Seeing Sam try to move, he placed his hand on his brother's shoulder to keep him still. "Easy Sammy…no moving for a minute." He moved his hand down, squeezing Sam's ankle tightly. "Can you feel that?"

Sam nodded very slightly, eyes screwing shut in pain. "Ugh…" He moaned, face paling once more.

"Okay…okay…" At least the blow hadn't injured his spine. Thanking God for that, Dean pulled a small pen light out of his pocket and shined it into his brother's eyes. Uneven pupils gazed back at him, unable to focus. Concussion, great. Concussions were a pretty regular occurrence in this line of work but it didn't mean they were anymore fun to deal with. Sam was in for a hell of a headache.

With carefully trained fingers, Dean probed the side of Sam's head, trying to ignore the pained moans coming from the younger man. There was a gash behind Sam's ear, bleeding profusely, but it didn't feel deep. Head wounds are notorious bleeders though so it wasn't too surprising. Pulling a wad of napkins out of his pocket, he pressed them to the wound. Sam winced again, eyes fluttering slightly. "Hey, no more sleeping princess. We gotta get out of here. You don't want to spend the night in a graveyard, do you?"

Dean took his lack of response as a "no" and carefully slid his arms around Sam's shoulders, lifting him slightly. Sam gripped his sleeve suddenly, eyes rolling a bit at the sudden shift in gravity, and his breathing coming in shallow gasps. "You okay?" Dean asked, eyeing his brother carefully.

It took a few second before Sam was able to respond. He nodded slowly, unsure, and looked at Dean. "Where…?" He asked, looking around in confusion.

Dean had been expecting this; a good knock on the head usually adds up to some degree of amnesia. "Graveyard, Sammy. Remember? Our not so friendly ghost decided to use you as a ping pong ball." Seeing a bit of recognition in Sam's eyes was encouraging so he continued. "We got him though. Just gotta get you home and patched up now. You ready to get off the ground?"

Before he had a chance to answer, Dean slowly began to stand, keeping a tight grip around Sam's shoulders. The younger man was shaking all over, his legs trembling like a newborn colt, and he clung to his brother like a lifeline. "We're going to take this slow, okay Sammy?" He said next to his ear, keeping him pressed to his side. "One step at a time. Ready little brother?"

With Dean's help, Sam managed to take a few slow, shaky steps forward. His head was spinning, the world tilting with each step, and he tried to breathe regularly. Even with that, it wasn't enough to prevent his stomach from crawling to his throat. "Dean…" He gasped.

"Almost there Sammy, just a few more feet."

"Dean…" He breathed again.

"Almost there…"

The pleading was over and Sam couldn't stop the lurch or his stomach. Before he could stop himself, he was retching all over the ground…and his brother's shoes.

"Aww Sammy…"

Sam gagged again, nearly falling had it not been for his brother's grip around his shoulders . " m'sorry…God…sorry…" He gasped, retching again. He felt himself lowered slightly, a hand rubbing slow circles into his back.

"It's okay Sammy…no harm done." Dean reassured, ignoring the mess on his shoes and keeping an eye on his brother. A thin sheet of sweat covered Sam's face, his unruly hair clinging to his face in damp tendrils. He looked even worse than before. After a few minutes, he moved so he was eye level with Sam. "You think you can make it to the car?"

Sam was still shaking but he managed a weak nod. "I wanna go home…" He mumbled, his voice taking on a quality it had lost when Sam was six. Dean felt his heart break a little more at the sound and he nodded, carefully helping the younger man stand once more. However, "home" wasn't an option right now. A hospital was. Yes, it broke Winchester rule 1 but he wasn't taking any chances. Not with this.

"C'mon Sammy, lets get you to the car, okay?" Keeping him pressed close once more, the two made their way back to the car. Dean gently deposited Sam into the front seat, walking around to the driver's side and sliding in as well. He fastened his seatbelt and reached across the seat, pulling Sam down so that the younger man's head was resting in his lap.

" m' getting' blood on your jeans…" Sam mumbled softly, his words slurring and running together. Yep, hospital time.

"Its alright, kiddo. Just stay awake until we get to the hospital, okay?"

"Hospital…?

"Yep, I think this is beyond even my super amazing skills. I want to make sure all those college classes didn't leak out when you smacked your head on the wall. Not only that, I'm not running the risk of you going into a coma before you buy me a new pair of boots."

Sam smiled weakly, his eyes fluttering slightly. "Not buying you anything…"

"Yeah, we'll see about that." Dean said, speeding down the highway and turning off in the direction of the nearest hospital. "You just concentrate on what color boots would look best on me."

"Pink…with purple detail…"

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

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**Hope you all liked it!! :D**


	16. Drugs

**Hello all!! This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful Shanannigans because she wanted some drugged up, loopy Sam! My muse approves and had a field day with this one lol! I've never had my wisdom teeth removed but my best friend did when she was fifteen and had a really bad experience with the painkillers they gave her. So this is kinda sorta based off her too. Only not quite to Sam's extent; I exagerated a bit :P Hope you all like it!!**

**BTW: Sam's about 15-ish in here. Yay Sammy!! :D Also, the tea bags thing was something my best friend had to do; apparently the acidity of the tea promotes healing and takes care of some of the inflammation. And the frozen peas are just for soreness ;)**

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Dean pulled into the parking space, parking the car and reaching across the seat to grab the plastic grocery bag. The contents shifted slightly as he picked it up, tea bags and frozen peas barely visible beneath the thin plastic. Normally, going to the store for such trivial and outdated medical supplies was out of the question but today it was a necessary evil. His little brother was dealing with a case of dry sockets thanks to having his wisdom teeth taken out and the resulting treatment to fix it had been almost as bad as the surgery itself. He hadn't slept well in the past couple days so today he was staying home from school, under the watchful care of his older brother. So, while Sam was hopped up on painkillers, Dean took the liberty of going to the store and getting some unconventional remedies.

The door was locked, just like he'd left it, but there was something blocking the door from the inside. Pushing against it, a kitchen chair shifted along the carpet, wood dragging along fiber. He quirked an eyebrow and peaked inside, wondering why the chair was there to begin with. "Sam?" He called, stepping into the dark hotel room.

Sam's head popped up from behind the bed closest to the wall and he motioned for his brother to close the door. "Get inside!" He hissed sharply, keeping his body mostly hidden behind the bed.

Dean frowned, stepping inside and closing the door behind him, locking it at a second though. His hunter senses were on high alert but, as far as he could tell, there was nothing in the room to pose a threat. "Sam, what's going on?"

Sam didn't answer. Instead, he hopped to his feet and reached across the bed, grabbing Dean by the shirt and yanking him over the mattress to where he'd been sitting.

Dean bounced roughly off the carpet and winced a bit. "Okay, man, you're starting to freak me out. What's going on?"

"Shh..."

"Dammit Sam..."

"They'll hear you..." The younger man looked conspiratorially toward the door, something gripped tightly in his hand. Upon closer examination it turned out to be a wooden spoon. Sam's eyes were glassy and unfocused, like he'd just woken up from a deep sleep, and he appeared to be seeing things his older brother wasn't.

"Who'll hear me, Sammy?" Dean asked, keeping his voice gentle. Sam used to sleepwalk when he was younger so Dean had more than enough experience with his little brother not making a whole lot of sense when he was like this.

"They will..."

"We've established that." He sighed softly and rested his back against the wall. "Who's 'they'?"

"One of them almost got in earlier. That's why I had to block the door..."

"Mhmm..." Okay, no more dentist prescribed painkillers for Sammy. "Hoe many of them are there?"

"About eight."

"That many, huh? Guess we better keep the door blocked tonight, huh?"

Sam nodded vigorously, his hair falling across his eyes. His jaw was still slightly swollen, the surgery causing all kinds of inflammation. He'd been sore all day and the dry sockets didn't help. It was a wonder he'd spoken this much. "Sam, how many painkillers did you take last time?"

"Two-ish?"

"Two?! Sam, you're only supposed to take one!"

"Don't yell!"

"I'm not yelling!"

"Shh!" A hand was suddenly clamped over his mouth and Dean suppressed a curse. "If you yell they'll get inside..."

"Who?" He mumbled into Sam's palm.

"The Gremlins."

Dean's eyes widened and it took every ounce of will power he had not to burst out laughing. Gremlins?! That's what Sam was hallucinating about?! It figured, the kid had been terrified of the movie when he was younger and even had nightmares about the fucked up little monsters. But honestly, out of all the things they dealt with in their line of work, all the horrifying, God-awful things they'd seen, Sam was hallucinating about Gremlins?!

Finally managing to compose himself, Dean took a deep breath and fought back a grin. "So uh... what do the Gremlins want, Sammy? Why are they here?"

"Socks."

"Pardon?"

"They came for our socks."

Dean almost lost it all over again. "Why socks?"

Sam looked at him strangely like it was the most obvious answer in the world. "They're feet get cold."

"Of course..." He took another breath, unable to fight the grin anymore. "So what did you do with all of our socks, Sammy?"

"They're in the bathtub."

"Seriously?"

"Yes." Sam shrugged, still staring at the door. He was all kinds of out of it.

"Can I ask why?"

"They don't like water, remember?"

"Right..." Absolutely no way was Sam ever taking those painkillers again. He sighed; the only way for Sam to get this out of his system was to sleep it off. "Come on kiddo, I think you've battened down the fort long enough. Bed time." He grabbed Sam's arm gently and hoisted him off the ground. Sam was unusually compliant.

"But what if they get in the house?"

"Don't worry Sammy, I'll keep watch."

"Dean, they almost got in earlier..."

"I know Sammy, which it why I'm going to get a big-ass flame thrower and burn any of them that try to get in an steal our socks, okay?"

Sam nodded slightly, dropping on to the bed with a soft thump. "My teeth hurt..."

"I know kiddo, I have something for you to take when we defeat all the Gremlins."

"'Kay..." He didn't resist as Dean pushed him onto the mattress, but he didn't sleep right away either. "Baking soda keeps them out too..." He mumbled.  
"Baking soda. Got it."

"And Listerine."

"Yay, dental hygiene." Dean sat on the edge of the bed, patting his brother's leg gently. Go to sleep, Sammy. I'll watch out for the Gremlins." He and the dentist were going to have a real serious talk about this...

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**Hope you all liked it!! :D**


	17. Leprechaun

**Happy St. Patrick's Day!! Hope everyone's wearing green!! This idea literally popped up this morning and bugged me until I wrote it so here ya go :D**

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"-ammy...?"

He winced, eyes squinting shut a little tighter trying to block out the voice.

"Sammy..."

There it was again, loud and persistent, right next to his ear. Speaking of, why did the side of his head feel like it had just gotten the business end of baseball bat?

"Sammy!"

He winced, forcing one eye open and staring up into the worried green eyes above him. "D'n...?" He mumbled, his jaw throbbing as he spoke.

"Thank God." Dean breathed, brushing a hand through his short hair. "I thought this blow to the head was going to be your last one." An arm looped around his shoulders and Sam suddenly found himself pulled off the floor (how did he get down there?) and propped against the wall. "How ya feelin' kiddo?" Dean asked, eying him carefully.

"Like I got hit with a bat...by Mark Maguire..." His head was throbbing, something slightly damp and sticky clinging to the side of his head and making a trail down his neck. Judging by the coppery smell, he could guess what it was.

"Yeah, well that would be due to our little friend over there whacking you with a gold brick." Dean's eyes narrowed and he cast a look over his shoulder to someone sitting behind them.

"Well, how was I supposed to know what the two of ya where up to?" A new voice rang out in the room, the accent thick and real. Sam leaned just slightly and saw a thin man sitting on a bench a few feet away. He had a mop of wiry red hair and beard to match. He was wearing a green jacket with blue jeans and green baseball cap was balanced on his knee. "Do ya know how often me shop gets vandalized this time a year?" He asked, glaring back at Dean. "A lot!"

"So you go around clubbing people over the head with bricks of gold?!" Dean shot back, his voice rising slightly.

"Better to use it as a weapon than have it stolen!" The man snapped.

While the two of them bickered, Sam tried to remember where they were and what had happened. It was St. Patrick's Day and he and Dean had taken the night off to get in touch with their inner Irish. Dean had struck up a conversation with a pretty brunette and Sam was working his way over the redhead at the bar when they saw a man exit the bar, looking a bit more out of place than the rest of the patrons. Hunter's instincts kicked in and they followed him, rounding out into a back alley that led to a shoe shop. They heard the back door close and the flicker of a shadow on the wall and figured that's where there mystery man had disappeared in to. No sooner had they opened the door, there was a flash of gold and then lights out.

"-addie?"

"Huh?" Sam was jerked back to the present and shook his head, wincing at the dizziness that accompanied the movement. Yay concussions.

"Ya alright, laddie?" The man asked again, looking in his direction. "I apologize for hittin' ya, but ya just can't take chances on a night like this." He flashed Dean a look again and went on. "I've been robbed before and its not somethin' I wish to take part in again."

Robbed? Bricks of gold? Irishman in a shoe store? "Oh my God..." Sam mumbled. "Are you a leprechaun?"

Dean cocked an eyebrow and looked back at his brother. "Okay, Sammy, maybe the bump on the head did a bit more damage than I thought..."

The man sighed. "Aye, lad. I am."

"Excuse me?" Dean looked between Sam and the man. "Okay, first of all, Sam, concussions make you say weird things, not to mention all the green beer we had earlier, but that man is not a leprechaun. And second," He rounded back at the man. "You're not a leprechaun! This is just some kind of stunt for St. Patrick's Day, right?"

"Dean..."

"Now why would I lie about somethin' like that?!" The man shot back, his accent becoming thicker the angrier he became.

"Oh, I don't know, because everyone wants the "luck o' the Irish" this time of year and some take it a bit too far. Besides, I've never heard of a leprechaun working in a shoe store!"

"Dean..."

"What?"

"In Irish mythology, leprechauns were known for making and repairing shoes. It was thought that if you could get a leprechaun to repair your shoes for you, your family would have luck for the rest of the year." He swayed a bit and Dean put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. "Besides, who else carries around bricks of gold?"

Dean had to admit that one had him stumped. He looked back at the man, who was still glaring at him, and noticed the golden brick in his hand. It was old and worn, like it had been moved countless times and guarded like the man's life depended on it. He sighed again. "So you really think this guy is-"

"A leprechaun." Both Sam and the man said at once.

Dean rolled his eyes and turned back to the man. "So what are you doing in New York, of all places? Why not Dublin?"

The man huffed and crossed his arms. "I've managed to make a very good living in these parts. The business is better here." It seemed a simple enough explanation and he settled on that. "And what are the two of ya doing in these parts other than breaking into me shop after hours?"

"We're hunters." Sam answered, vaguely wondering whether or not it was a good idea to try and stand up. "We track down things like demons and spirits."

"Really? And have ya found anythin' to hunt yet?"

"Well, now-" Dean started but Sam stopped him.

"Listen, lads, I apologize for the shameful greetin' but I can't let me guard down this time a year. If people found out what I keep in here, it would ruin me." He knocked lightly on the wall behind him and both Winchesters could here it was hollow. "I've protected this gold for centuries and I'm not too ready to give it up."

"Why don't you just put it in a safe deposit box?" Dean asked.

"Are ya mad?! And run the risk of them losin' some of it?!" The man gawked like it was the silliest thing he'd ever heard in his entire (however long that was) life. "I'd much rather be keepin' it with me if it were all the same to ya." He hopped up from the bench and Sam could see he was barely four and a half feet tall. "I'm sorry again for hittin' your brother," He said, looking at Dean. But ya best be on your way; these shoes aren't gonna fix themselves." He nodded to an entire shelf behind him full of shoes that needed repairs in some way.

With Dean's help, Sam managed to stand, albeit wobbly, and make his way to the door. Concussions, along with alcohol, were definitely not a good combination. "Sorry for the trouble." Sam waved slightly and Dean caught his arm to keep him from tumbling into the alley.

"Sorry for hittin' you with a brick." The man called back, stopping them right before they left. "And listen," He whispered, leaning in close. "I'd appreciate it if ya didn't go tellin' everyone what I told ya tonight. I'm a bit fond of this city, I's rather not pack up an leave just yet..."

"Alright Lucky, we won't tell anyone." Dean mumbled over his shoulder, keeping a steady grip on Sam.

The man seemed to visibly relax. "Thank you." He patted both of them on the back and gently pushed them out the door. "Happy St. Patrick's day." He said, which seemed oddly out of place coming from an honest-to-God leprechaun, and closed the door.

They stood outside for a few seconds, neither really knowing what to say. "Okay," Dean said, breaking the silence for the both of them. "No more green beer for a while. Let's get you back to the hotel and get your head bandaged up." He took a step, a small jingle accompanying the movement as he walked. "What the-?" Frowning, he reached into his pocket. Five gold coins came out in his palm. They were old, the markings barely visible after years of use. Sam recovered five coins from his own pocket as well, his eyes wide.

"What did the legends say about Irish gold?" Dean asked absently, flipping a coin over in his hand and examining it carefully.

"I think good luck...lots of good luck..." Sam muttered back.

"Great, because we need all the luck we can get." He smiled at Sam, noticing the lights were already out in the shoe store. "Maybe a bit of Irish luck wouldn't hurt us, either."

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**Ugh...lame author is lame...I feel like this ending sucked O.o Oh well, hopefully you guys liked it!! Lá Fhéile Pádraig Sona Duit!! (or, in English, Happy St. Patrick's Day!!)**


	18. Appendix

**Hi guys!! Sorry its taken me so long to update, school has been rather crazy and it wants my blood O.o Anyway, this story was written for _enid18_ and _Shennanigans_ who both requested Sam getting his appendix removed. I thought it was a fun idea so here ya go!! :D**

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Sam winced slightly, leaning forward to rest his chin against the desk, his arms wrapping protectively around his stomach. His whole abdomen had felt like it was on fire all morning, the muscles tense and bruised from the hunt a few days earlier.

They'd encountered a group of cult members trying to resurrect a vengeful spirit to do their dirty work and when Sam and Dean had tried to stop him, the shit literally hit the fan. The cult members were fast, unnaturally so, and they moved quicker than either boy could follow, landing a few sharp, direct blows to each of them before they ever even saw them. They had been separated, Dean fighting off two of the bigger ones and Sam left with three of the skinnier, faster ones. Each blow, whether it was from an elbow or a knee, Sam couldn't be sure, was aimed at his chest and stomach; apparently they were going for as many internal injuries as possible. He finally caught onto their movements, they weren't as sporadic as he'd originally taken them for, and he managed to deflect most of their attacks, even throwing in a few of his own. Dean had dispatched his two already and ran to help his younger brother in the fight, taking on one of the three and knocking him out cold. Sam took down another one, tossing him to the side, but he wasn't able to avoid the direct blow to his side by the last man. He staggered to the side, arm instinctively wrapping around his middle and doubling over in pain. He struggled to take a deep breath, hearing a satisfying thud as the last man was knocked unconscious by his older brother. A hand appeared on his shoulder and Dean looked down at him with concerned green eyes. "Hey man, you okay?" He asked, watching as Sam straightened slowly, gritting his teeth with the movement.

"Yeah...just got the wind knocked out of me..." He said honestly, not feeling that anything was broken or in desperate need of attention. "Damn, those guys were tough..."

"Yeah, like a bunch of little spider monkeys in hoods." Dean grumbled, keeping his hand on Sam's shoulder and steering him toward the door. "Come on, let's go home."

That had been two days ago and Sam's stomach still felt like it was on fire. He had an impressive array or bruises that nearly all of his chest and down to his hips but he was sure nothing was broken; he could breathe just fine and, while his ribs felt like someone had taken a sledge hammer to them, none of them felt misshapen or unusual. He was pretty sure there was no internal damage either; just a bunch of bruises, nothing more serious than that. Still, it hurt like hell, especially along his right side. That's where most of the damage had been done.

The bell rang and he straightened slowly, swallowing a gasp as his body fought against the movement. He almost considered staying home today but with their dad away on a hunt and Dean working all day, he figured it would be better to be in school than sitting home feeling sorry for himself. He slung his backpack over his shoulder, clenching his teeth as the muscles in his stomach stretched. He wrapped his arm around his stomach, the right side aching painfully. He felt hot and shaky and wondered if he should go check into the nurse's office but that was sure to raise some suspicions thanks to the colorful patchwork of bruises on his body.

Sam made sure to always be involved in some kind of sport so at least he would have an excuse for the various bumps and scrapes he got on hunts but this was a little much. He was in football this year and, while it was a pretty rough contact sport, it didn't explain all of the injuries. He took a slow breath, wincing and keeping his arm around his waist; he just had to suck it up, that's what their dad would say.

He was nearly to the bottom of the stairs when a group of upperclassmen shoved past him, knocking and jostling him around and causing a whole new flare of pain to erupt in his side. He tried to push through but one of the boys landed a well-placed elbow directly in his right side and Sam went down instantly. He landed on his hands and knees, a terrible gasp escaping his lips as he struggled to keep from throwing up all over the floor.

When his knees couldn't hold him anymore, he sank even more so he was laying on the floor, curled into a tiny ball and squeezing his eyes shut. The pain lessened only for a second and then it was back with re-newed strength. He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and clenched his teeth, damp hair falling over his eyes.

"Hey kid, you okay?" One of the upperclassmen asked, coming back down the stairs to kneel next to the fallen freshman. He touched him lightly on the shoulder and the younger boy tensed. When he didn't receive an answer right away, he looked up to the growing crowd of students around them. "Someone go get the nurse!"

**OOOOO**

Dean sighed as he restocked the shelf for the third time that day. He couldn't understand why people insisted on putting the boxed food items with the canned food items; it made no sense. He grumbled something unflattering about customer service beneath his breath and dropped another box of macaroni and cheese into the cart, wheeling it down the aisle and picking through the shelves to find the items that didn't belong there. He hated this stupid grocery store, he hated dealing with idiot customers all day, but it paid the bills and right now he was the only one bringing in any money. With Sam still in school and their dad off on hunts every other day, someone had to pay for the food in the house.

His cell phone began vibrating in his pocket and he frowned slightly. No one ever called him at work; their father usually didn't call unless something had gone way south and Sam never called him while he was at school. Pausing his recon mission with the boxes, he reached into his pocket and flipped open his phone. "Hello?"

"Dean Winston?" An elderly female voice asked as soon as he answered.

Dean recognized the code name Sam had put on his emergency contact information and he felt his stomach knot up instinctively. "Yes?"

"My name is Dolores Mitchel, I'm the nurse at Whitecrest High School. Your brother, Sam, was brought in about fifteen minutes ago complaining of acute abdominal pain. I've examined him and I'm afraid he may be suffering from appendicitis."

Dean swallowed dryly, already walking toward the front door. "Is he still there?"

"Yes, I have him laying down in one of the back rooms. I was going to call and ambulance but I needed your permission first." The nurse continued though Dean had stopped listening by this point.

"Don't bother, I'll be there in five minutes." Without giving her a chance to protest, Dean hung up and pulled out of the parking lot, leaving a very confused store manager behind.

True to his word, Dean made it all the way across town and to the high school in just over five minutes. He ignored the receptionist at the front desk who told him to sign into the visitor book and walked straight to the nurse's office. An elderly woman with white hair tied back in a loose bun looked up at him as he walked in, her glasses sliding down her nose a bit. "Mr. Winston?" She asked expectantly.

Dean nodded briefly. "Yeah, I'm Dean Winston." He looked around the room absently and then back at her. "Where's Sam?"

The nurse just stood and walked into the back examination room, indicating a table with a curtain wrapped around in. Walking over, Dean slowly pulled back the curtain to see Sam curled on his side, arms wrapped around his stomach and his face scrunched in pain. He walked over, dropping to his knees next to the bed and reached out, placing a hand on Sam's face and frowning. The kid was running a fever. "Sammy? Hey kiddo, you with me?"

Sam opened his eyes slowly, his gaze glassy and filled with pain. "Dean..." He gasped, curling a bit more. "Something's wrong..."

"I know Sammy, I know." He brushed the hair away from Sam's face with gentle fingers. "I'm going to get you some help, okay? I promise." He carefully slid an arm around Sam's shoulders and lifted slowly, trying to ignore the way his brother stiffened and whimpered whenever he moved him. "I know it hurts, Sammy...I know..."

He stood slowly, dragging Sam along with him until they were completely upright. Sam nearly doubled over in pain again but Dean kept a tight but gentle grip around his waist, avoiding any direct pressure on Sam's side. "Man, you gotta stop growing." He mumbled as he half-dragged, half-carried Sam down the hallway. "How sucky would it be to have a little brother taller than me?" He asked to no one in particular. Sam let out a breathy laugh that turned into a wince and he gripped Dean's wrist tightly. "I know Sammy, let's get you to the car okay?"

In another example of record breaking speed, Dean managed to get downtown and to the hospital in about ten minutes. The minute he and Sam staggered into the emergency room, a nurse with a gurney rushed over to grab the injured younger man and wheel him off to surgery. Apparently, nurse Mitchel had called ahead and explained the situation so the staff was ready by the time they got there. She had no doubt that if Sam's appendix hadn't ruptured already, it was going to anytime now so they nurses didn't waste any time getting him back into the operating room. With his brother in capable hands, Dean was left to wander around the waiting room and wait for any word from the doctors.

**OOOOO**

Nearly an hour passed before a man in mint green scrubs walked into the room, looking at him through dark lined glasses. "Mr. Winston?"

Dean nodded, absently vowing to change that last name the next town they went to; it sounded like Winston Churchill. "Yeah." He stood and walked over to shake the doctor's hand. "How's Sam?"

The doctor nodded slightly and motioned for him to sit down. "Sam's fine, the surgery went off without a hitch. He was very lucky, his appendix hadn't ruptured but it was close." The doctor sobered a bit and looked at Dean. "Mr. Winston, I'd like to ask you about the bruises on Sam's chest and abdomen, they look recent and there are too many to ignore."

Dean swallowed a bit and nodded; they got questions like this all the time when they ended up at the hospital and it was never easy to steer the doctors away from the CPS button. "My brother plays a lot of sports: football, soccer, anything with a ball and the kid will play it. He's been training really hard for a soccer tournament coming up (thank God Sam had a schedule posted on the refrigerator door) and he takes it a bit too rough sometimes." Seeing the skeptical look, Dean continued. "Look doc, I know this looks bad but I promise you I would never lay a hand on my brother. I've practically raised that kid."

The doctor looked at him for a long moment as if trying to determined whether or not to believe him. Finally, he sighed and nodded, standing and motioning to the door. "He's in the ICU if you want to see him."

Sam awoke slowly, vaguely aware that he was laying down and there was an IV in his hand. His fingers twitched a bit, something that always happened as his body regained consciousness, and he let them brush over the soft fabric of the blanket covering him. It was thin and woven, a typical hospital blanket, and the room had a familiar antiseptic smell. Yep, hospital.

He opened his eyes carefully, blinking at the ceiling above him. There was a machine next to his bed, monitoring his blood pressure and vital signs, and a small potted plant sat on the window sill.

"Glad to see you're awake." A voice said beside him and he turned. Dean smiled warmly at him. "How ya feeling kiddo?"

Sam winced; the pain wasn't quiet as bad anymore but he was still sore as hell and he could feel the itchiness of the stitches in his side. "Like I was the pin at a bowling alley." He breathed, blinking slow and owlishly. "What happened?"

"Well, you collapsed at school and your appendix nearly ruptured; not a bad way to start off a Wednesday." Dean teased but he got serious just as quickly. "Sam, why didn't you tell me it was this bad?"

"Because it wasn't." Sam replied honestly, looking at his brother again. "I thought it was just some bad bruises but it started getting really bad this morning and before I could call you..." He faded off; they both knew what had happened in that time period.

"Well, you got your appendix out." Dean said after a second, leaning back in the chair. "Hey, if you ask really nice, maybe they'll let you keep it."

Sam chuckled a little, clenching his teeth as the movement caused his stitches to pull. "Dean, our lives are weird enough without me carrying around my appendix in a jar."

"Yeah..." Dean thought for a second. "It would still be cool though."

"Well, if you ever get your appendix taken out, you can mount it on the wall, sound good?" Sam chided, feeling the effects of the anesthesia hadn't quite left his body yet as he felt himself relaxing back into the pillows once more.

"Awesome." Dean laughed, patting his brother's arm lightly. Sam was already asleep again and he smiled a little; maybe that cute nurse down the hall would let him smuggle the jar home after all.

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**Yay hurt!Sam!! Hope you all liked it!! :D**


	19. Sick

**Hello all!! My birthday is this weekend and I'm looking for the cute stuff so that means fluffy, adorable, sick Sammy plus awesome big brother!Dean and awesome dad!John for all of you!! :D Sam's about 5 in this chapter so that just adds to the awesome-ness that is sick Sam =P Also this is a request fic from _Samgirl19_ becuase she wanted sick Sammy and awesome Dean and John too. Woot!! Hope you all like it!! :D**

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"C'mon Sammy, I need you to wake up for me, okay?" A hand groped around blindly beneath the mass of blankets, fingers coming across a too-warm, rumpled figure. With slow, yet precise accuracy, Dean pulled the blankets back to reveal his little brother's curled form. "Hey kiddo, how ya feelin'?"

Sam blinked owlishly at his brother, his fever-bright eyes bloodshot and tired. His face was flushed, thick hair clinging to his forehead and obscuring his vision slightly. He made a muffled noise in the back of his throat and sat up on one elbow, squinting a bit as his eyes adjusted to the light. "D'n...?"

"Mmhmm..." The older boy said, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching out to lay his hand across his littler brother's forehead. Sam was still too hot, the fever had been burning through him for the past three days with little relief; he knew Sam had to be exhausted. "Feeling any better?" He asked, though he already knew the answer.

Sam shook his head, his small frame curling in on itself a bit more. He'd spent most of the previous night coughing until he gagged and now every muscle in his body felt like it had been sent through a wringer. He hurt all over, the very act of breathing hurt, and he was more tired than he'd ever been in his life. "I feel like crap Dean..." Sam mumbled, his voice raw from disuse and the coughing fits.

"Don't say "crap" Sammy." Dean scolded lightly though there was no sternness in his voice. He'd been cussing since he was Sam's age but he wasn't quite ready for Sam to start saying those words; he'd had to grow up fast thanks to the life they led and he wanted Sam to stay innocent and pure for just a little while longer. "Think you could handle some soup?"

Sam made a face like someone had just offered him a plate of raw liver and swallowed back the gag in his throat.

"Okay, juice?"

That didn't sound nearly as terrible but it didn't sound great either.

Dean sighed softly. "C'mon kiddo, I need you to drink something at least. If you get dehydrated, you'll feel ten times worse."

Sam was silent for a minute before he finally nodded. "Okay..."

Dean smiled and ruffled the younger boy's hair. "That's my boy." He stood, walking into the small kitchen their apartment had to offer. It was little more than a hallway with a refrigerator and a stove. He pulled a bottle of Gatorade out of the pantry and poured a small amount into a coffee cup, recapping the bottle and walking back into the bedroom. Sam was still rumpled on the bed, his eyes searching the room blankly. "Here you go, Sammy." He said, offering the coffee cup to his little brother.

Sam took the cup and took a few hesitant sips, making a slight face when the sweet juice hit his tongue. He'd gone about two days without eating much of anything and the sudden sweetness was surprising and unwelcome. But he knew that Dean would watch until he finished the entire cup, he'd been doing it since Sam got sick, so he sat silently and drank the rest of it. When he finished, he took a sniffled breath and set the cup down, looking back up at his brother. "Where's Dad?"

Dean leaned around the corner to look into the living room as if he expected their father to magically waltz through the door. "He said he had some errands to run and that he'd be back in a little bit."

Almost as if on cue, the front door pushed open and there was the shuffle of boots across the carpeted floor. Instinctively, Dean stood and moved in front of the bed, guarding his brother on the off chance that whoever had just walked in was not their father.

"Dean?" A gruff yet familiar voice called from the kitchen, the sound of plastic and paper bags being laid out on the counter.

"Yes sir?" Dean asked, coming around the corner, relieved to see his father unpacking boxes of medicine from the various bags.

John smiled when he saw him. "How's Sammy doin'?"

Dean shrugged one shoulder and moved to help his father unpack the rest of the help bags. "He still feels terrible and he's still running a fever but I got him to drink some Gatorade so maybe that will help."

John nodded slightly, opening a box of cold and flu medicine and reading the label. "Yeah, the flu is definitely not a fun experience." He said, pulling two pills from the package and pouring more Gatorade into another coffee cup. "See if you can get Sam to take this. It'll help him feel better." He said, handing both the cup and the pills to his oldest.

Dean nodded and walked into the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed next to his brother. "Alright buddy, drug time." He dropped the pills into Sam's hand and handed him the second cup of Gatorade.

"Dean..." Sam whined, looking at the cup and the pills like they were poison.

"No puppy eyes today Sam. Take the pills, they'll make you feel better."

Sam didn't say anything and simply popped the pills in his mouth, washing them down with the Gatorade. He opened his mouth, showing Dean his tongue.

"You look like a Muppet." Dean teased, reaching out to brush a strand of hair out of Sam's eyes.

"You're a Muppet." Sam mumbled sleepily, his voice thick and nasally. Usually, he was up for any of the playful banter his brother tried to coax him into but all he felt like doing right now was sleeping. To add to his discomfort, he sneezed.

"You still sound pretty beat." John said from the doorway and both boys turned to look at him. He walked into the room, sitting on the bed next to Dean and laying a large, calloused hand across his youngest son's forehead, frowning slightly. "You're still too warm." He said to no one in particular, looking into his sons eyes and seeing the fatigue that lingered in them. "No school tomorrow either."

At this, Sam straightened slightly. "But we're supposed to go to the park tomorrow in class." He protested, even though "park" ended up sounding a lot like "bark" before it was all over.

"I'm sorry, kiddo, but I'm not letting you out of the house with a cold this bad." Seeing Sam's crestfallen face, he sighed softly. "Tell you what, if you're feeling better by this weekend then we'll go to the park Saturday afternoon. Sound good?"

Sam blinked up at his father, looking slightly less miserable than he'd been for the past three days. "Really?"

"Really." John smiled; it wasn't often that they did things simply for pleasure and the fact that Sam could get so much joy out of just going to the park made their lives seem almost normal. "But you have to get better first." With that said, he scooped Sam, blankets and all, into his arms and walked into the living room, gently depositing him onto the couch. "And in order to do that, you need to eat something." Without waiting for a reply, John walked back into the kitchen and pulled a few cans out of one of the bags. "So what'll it be, Sammy? Chicken noodle or potato?" He held up two cans so Sam could see them.

Honestly, he wasn't hungry for either but if it meant making his dad and Dean happy, he would eat. "Chicken noodle." He answered, figuring that was the one less likely to cause damage.

Dean got up to help their father in the kitchen, leaving Sam alone in the living room. The news was on (they followed cases through newspapers and news stories) and the low drone of the reporters was enough to make Sam fall asleep on the arm of the couch.

A few minutes later, he was shaken awake by Dean and handed a bowl of soup. His brother fell onto the couch beside him, a bowl of potato soup in his hands and they ate quietly, watching as the weatherman described the forecast for the next few days. John sat in the recliner next to the couch, a cup of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other. He flipped through the paper absently, scanning the pages for anything that might look like a potential case.

Sam got through about half of his soup before he couldn't eat anymore. He stood slowly, shakily, his legs tangled in the blankets and Dean pushed him back into the couch. "Sit. I'll take it." The older boy said, taking the bowl from his brother's hands and taking it into the kitchen.

Sam watched, a slight shudder rippling through his body. Standing up had made him cold and he snuggled deeper into the blankets to get warm again. Dean sat down next to him on the couch again, frowning when he saw Sam shiver. "You cold?"

Sam shook his head slightly. "No." He lied though he couldn't hide the second shiver that shook through him.

"Liar." Dean rolled his eyes a bit and wadded Sam up in the blanket, pulling him into his lap. The younger boy tensed slightly but relaxed against his brother, the additional body heat sinking in and making him sleepy once again. He leaned back, resting his head against Dean's shoulder and sighed softly, watching the flickering broadcast of the news. Dean didn't say anything, he simply kept a loose hold around Sam and continued to watch the TV. Not even five minutes later, Sam was sound asleep against him, his breathing deep and even.

John looked up from his paper after a bit and noticed Sam curled in Dean's lap, the older boy beginning to nod off as well. He smiled softly and stood, dropping the paper on top of the TV. "Looks like its time for both of you to go to bed." He knew Dean had been looking after Sam when he wasn't there, but then again he never had to ask. Dean had always put Sam first and he knew Sam did the same when it came to his older brother; they had a bond stronger than anyone John had ever met.

Dean looked up tiredly, blinking a bit in order to come back to reality. He looked down at the sleeping pile of Sam on top of him and looked back up at his father. "Uh, dad?"

John smiled and leaned down, scooping Sam up gently, trying not to wake him. He waited for Dean to stand as well before he switched off the TV and turned off the lamp in the living room. The apartment was small, a single bedroom, bathroom, and a kitchen, but it was really all they needed. The boys shared the bedroom and John usually slept on the couch so he could keep an eye on the door (being a Hunter had taught him never to trust a locked door). He walked into the bedroom, stepping over dirty clothes and school books. Normally, he would get on to them about cleaning up their room but he knew neither had the energy to do anything about it tonight so he left it alone.

Dean stumbled over to his bed, pausing long enough to change his clothes before falling onto the mattress. He yawned, not realizing how tired he was until he sat down.

"I'm proud of you, son." John said, laying Sam down in his own bed and arranging the blankets around him.

"Huh?" Dean asked, quirking an eyebrow in confusion. "For what?"

"For looking after your brother." Came the simple reply and his father smiled softly at him. "For being with him when I'm not here."

Dean shrugged a bit and yawned once more. "Its no big deal." He smiled lightly. "I mean, its Sam. What am I going to do?"

John nodded and walked over, dropping a fatherly kiss to the top of his oldest son's head. "Good point." He patted him on the shoulder gently and nodded toward the bed. "Get some sleep, son."

"Night Dad." Dean mumbled sleepily, not needing anymore invitation to lay down.

On his way out the door, John stopped to check on Sammy one last time, adjusting the blankets a bit more. "Sleep well, kiddo." He whispered softly before kissing him on the head lightly and stepping out of the room, leaving both boys to their rest. As long as they were together, he knew nothing would ever happen to them.

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**Aww...so much fluff! Its like playing with bunnies :D**


	20. Bullets

**You know, I started thinking the other dday: After 20 chapters of this, you'd think this would start to have a negative effect on poor Sammy, both physically and mentally. But no, he just keeps soldiering on, facing whatever life throws at him with no complaints.**

**Sam: "You're a twisted bitch, you know that?"**  
**Me: Yep, he just keeps soldiering on, no hostility, or harsh words against anyone (holding the key to a large barred cage containing a very hungry, very angry Wendingo). Isn't he just the best?**  
**Sam:"...Seriously...?! Where the hell did you find that?!"**  
**Me: Play nice :D (opens the cage) Your brutally handsome big brother will come along soon =P**  
**Sam:...O.o...**

**Hehe, so this was a request from the always awesome KKBELVIS who requested bullets as part of the story. Thanks for the idea sweetie!! :D And thank you all for your suggestions!! I'm always open for ideas!! Hope you guys enjoy it!!**

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It was a simple hunt, concerns of a demonic possession in a small town in Iowa and the boys had been the only ones close enough to take it. It felt like old times: just the two of them on a routine hunt, no demons or deals or sides; just a routine hunt. They needed it; they hadn't been right with each other for a long time. Sam was still trying to figure a way to get Dean out of his deal and Dean was trying to make the most of the few months he had left. It should have been simple. It had started off well enough, the demon was easy enough to find and the spell to vanquish her had been text book. Everything was going according to plan. Well, that was before she found a gun.

Dean had been the first one in the room, his eyes locking onto the demon right as she took aim at him. His gun was loaded, out, but there was no way he was going to have enough time to pull the trigger. Looks like he was going to be one that highway to hell much sooner than he anticipated. He flinched as the gun fired twice, waiting for the firey burst of pain but there was nothing, only a muffled gasp and a thud in front of him. And Sam's blood on his boots.

Of all the things they'd faced in their years as hunters, every unimaginable terror and every spine-chilling creature they'd encountered, none of them held a candle to the horror Dean felt when he saw his brother curled on the ground, blood pooling around his alarmingly still form. His breath stilled in his chest, blood rushing in his ears. It was like Cold Oak all over again; Sam was going to die in front of him all over again. With a cry of rage, he fired three times at the woman, killing her and the demon instantly. He didn't care about the host, all he saw was the woman who had just shot his brother.

He was at Sam's side in an instant, his heart sinking at the growing puddle of blood around his brother's crumpled form. "Jesus Sam..." He breathed, his voice shaking. With a hesitant hand, he grabbed Sam's shoulder and gently turned him over. To his relief, Sam groaned, his eyes screwing shut tightly.

There were two bullet wounds, one piercing through Sam's right arm and the other lodged in his upper shoulder. The first one was a through-and-through, the exit wound on the back side of Sam's arm, the other one...not so much. Blood was gushing from the wound but there was no exit; the bullet was still in his shoulder.

"Agh..." Sam groaned, his breath coming in short, shallow pants. "That was a...good shot..." He gasped, uninjured arm lifting to cover the wound.

"Not that good of a shot..." Dean corrected; he had never been so happy for a shitty shot. Had the wound been any closer... He shook his head, pushing that thought out of his head. Sam shifted slightly beneath him and he pressed his hand to his chest, holding him down. "Stay still Sammy..." He said, taking a moment to run his hands over his brother's shirt and chest, checking for any other wounds he hadn't seen. It looked like there were only two, both of which were bleeding profusely. They needed to get out of here, and fast. "Alright kiddo, we gotta get going..." He looped an arm around Sam's shoulder, pulling him close and standing slowly. When Sam swayed against him, he tightened his hold, catching Sam against his shoulder. "Easy buddy...I gotcha...I gotcha Sammy..."

**OOOOO**

There was blood everywhere; too much of it, streaming down the leather seats and dripping onto the floor boards. It covered one whole sleeve like the material had been dyed in a gruesome, garish hue. Crimson rivulets streamed between his fingers, staining the underside of his fingernails and creating spiderweb patterns across his too pale skin. There was a bitter tang of it in the air, a sick, primal smell that made bile rise in the back of Dean's throat. Jesus Christ, it was everywhere.

"Hang on Sammy...just hang on..." He kept his hand against his younger brother's injured shoulder, trying to add some pressure to the gaping wound.

If Sam had heard him, he made no acknowledgement. The younger man's head was lolled back, eyes half-mast as he stared out the window. His breathing was shallow, chest barely rising and falling beneath the folds of his jacket. Something warm and wet was steadily flowing down the back of his arm, soaking his jacket and his shirt, gluing the material to him like a second skin. He was hurt bad this time, worse than the usual cuts and scrapes, but for some reason he couldn't feel it. He felt numb, his body a living mass of nerveless tissue. And he was tired. God, he was so tired... They had been fighting for so long, as long as he could remember, and now there were demons involved, and Dean's deal was coming and-

"Shit...shit...!" Dean cursed as Sam suddenly slumped to the side, his head bouncing off the window. He pulled over to the side of the road, slamming on the breaks and taking Sam's face in his hands. "Sam! Sammy! Answer me, man!" He could feel the weak, fluttering pulse against his palm but that did nothing to alleviate his fear, if anything it only increased it. Sam was about to go into shock from blood loss and they were still at least ten miles from the nearest hospital. "C'mon Sammy!"

Slowly, the younger man's eyes flickered open, taking a second to focus on the worried face above him. "Dean..." He breathed; there was no question in his voice, no uncertainty. This was his brother, the one he could always count on. Dean.

"Yeah, Sammy. I'm here..." Dean answered, pressing the palm of one hand into the wound a little more forcefully. "You gotta stay with me Sam, okay? Just stay with me, I know it hurts..."

Sam opened his mouth to say something, the words faltering on his lips. He struggled for a second, swallowing, and finally managing to form the words. "S'okay...not dying..."

Dean nearly laughed. "Yeah, well its fucking trying bro." He muttered grimly, pressing down once had been nearly thirty minutes since they'd left the building and Sam was getting worse with each passing minute. They needed to get back to the hotel, get to the the first aid kit, get Sam patched up. Dean had been wrestling with the idea of taking Sam to the hospital for the past seven miles, weighing his options and how much they were willing to put up with. Any gun shot wound required a police report following it and the multiple scars and similar gun shot scars that riddled both boy's bodies was sure to raise some questions. A hospital wasn't completely out of the question, it was just plan B...which was usually a last resort. The thing about Winchesters was that you didn't go to a hospital unless you were on death's door. Right now, Sam was standing on the front porch.

"Stay awake for me for just a little while longer, okay? Can you do that?" Dean asked, brushing his thumb across his little brother's bloodless cheekbone.

Sam nodded weakly, opening his eyes and looking at his brother. "Ten-four, Captain..." He tried to smile but it turned into more of a grimace.

"That's my boy." Dean encouraged, shifting the car into drive again and pulling back onto the highway. He kept one hand on the wheel, the other wrapped around Sam's wrist, keeping track of the weak, thready pulse. "Just a little farther Sammy...Just a little farther..."

The lights of their motel reflected up ahead and Dean breathed a sigh of relief, never more happy to see a shabby road-side inn in his life. He pulled into the parking lot, parking crookedly in front of their room and throwing open the driver's side door. He walked around to Sam's side of the car and opened the door, catching the younger man as he tumbled out of the seat. "I gotcha Sam..." He whispered, pulling the younger man closer to him and leading him to the door. "C'mon, man, let's get you patched up."

In the light, the wounds didn't look nearly as bad. Dean had managed to get Sam into the hotel and laid out across the closest bed, stripping him of his bloody jacket and shirt. The wound in his arm was simple enough to deal with; it hadn't come close to any major arteries or veins and Sam could move his arm and feel his fingers without any numbness or difficulty (other than the pain) so that meant there was probably no nerve damage. The shoulder wound would be a problem though.

Dean cleaned both wounds carefully, disinfecting them and trying to ignore the pained gasp that escaped Sam's mouth when the burning liquid was poured into the raw wounds. "Shh...I know it hurts...I know..." He brushed Sam's hair away from his face and continued to work. He stitched the first wound carefully, closing either side with steady, practiced hands. It wasn't the first time he'd stitched Sam up after a botched hunt but it never got any easier; every time the needle passed through Sam's skin, he felt the burn of bile in the back of his throat.

Sam's eyes fluttered a bit as the last stitch was pulled through in his arm but he said nothing.

"Dammit Sam...!" Dean growled suddenly, the pent up anger and fear getting the better of him. "What the hell were you thinking?!" He'd managed to keep it away all this time, bury the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. It was too much; he'd almost lost Sam all over again and it was too hard to take. "What if she hadn't missed, huh?! What if she'd hit a lung or what if one of those bullets decided to bounce around in that thick head of yours?! What then?!" He couldn't keep the anger out of his voice as all of his fear spilled into his words. "I lost you once Sammy! I can't do it again!...Not now..."

Sam was silent for a few seconds and Dean had almost convinced himself that the younger man was unconscious when he took a shallow breath. "Couldn't let you die...had to save you...had to protect you..." Sam shook his head weakly, his pain filled eyes rimmed with unshed tears. "Had to save you Dean...can't let the deal go through..." He took another breath, tears sliding down the side of his face and into his hair. "Have to save you..."

Dean was speechless for several seconds, something that usually never happened. Finally, he shook his head, grabbing a pair of tweezers from the First Aid kit. "You're an idiot..." He mumbled, hoping it hid the way his voice was shaking.

He hated bullet removal, it was never a fun experience for either party. He especially hated it when the injured party happened to be his little brother. With careful hands, he began sifting through the wound, poking and prodding his way through the injured tissue in search of the bullet. Sam winced, gritting his teeth sharply as the cold metal pressed into his wounded shoulder. His fingers tangled in the sheets, gripping as tightly as he could to keep from crying out. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead but he refused to submit to the pain; he had to be strong for Dean.

The tweezers clinked lightly against something metal. Focusing on the area, Dean dug a little deeper, the tips of the tweezers closing in around the small metal object. Sam breath hitched slightly in his throat, his jaw clenching. "Almost done..." Dean reassured him, getting a good grasp on the bullet and pulling it out carefully. Sam buckled under the pain and let out a strangled gasp, his eyes squeezing shut and his back arching as the bullet was dislodged from his shoulder. There was a wave of fresh, hot blood that bubbled from the injury and trickled down either side of the wound.

Acting quickly, Dean pressed a gauze pad into the wound, holding it tightly as the blood continued to saturate the material. It was a steady flow, no spurting or gushing that would indicate more serious damage, though how it would affect Sam's shoulder he couldn't be sure yet. All he was worried about was what was going on right then.

Glancing down he saw that Sam had finally lost his battle with consciousness and faded into a painless oblivion. Probably just as well, this stitching was going to hurt a lot more than the other two did. Sam breathing was slow and even enough that Dean didn't panic so he set to work on the remaining wound.

"It's not your job to protect me Sammy..." He muttered as he pulled the needle through the bruised, battered skin. "It never was." He finished patching up the wound and wrapped it carefully, tucking the blankets around Sam's sleeping form. "That's my territory, bro." He pulled up a chair next to the bed, knowing it was going to be a long night. He hand reached out, brushing the hair away from the younger man's face once more. "I'm the one who protects you, Sammy, not the other way around." He paused, taking in the younger man's features. "And I'll keep doing that until my dying breath."

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**Hope you guys liked it!! :D**


	21. Witches

**Hello all!! So sorry its taken so long to update, finals are coming up and they've been taking up every minnute of my life O.o This story is kinda short but it wasa request from Newspaper Taxis who wanted to see severely vomitting Sam. Hehe, she knows me so well =3 Thanks for being so great sweetie!! :D Hope you guys like it!!**

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"You sure you're feelin' okay?" Dean asked for the third time that night, eying his brother from across the room.

Sam nodded slightly, shaggy hair falling over his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired, you know?"

Dean hesitated, wondering whether or not he should be satisfied with the answer. Earlier in the evening, while trying to get rid of a local witch, Sam had been thrown into a table full of powders and bottles and had been covered in every kind of substance imaginable. Dean had doused him with holy water the minute they got outside, both boys having intimate experience with several varieties of witch's potions in their lives and knowing that nothing good came from any of them. He'd kept a careful eye on Sam the rest of night, watching for any changes in skin color, appearance, or, at the worst, species. Witches did have the ability to turn humans into things like cats and frogs but they hadn't had a first hand encounter with that. Still, it never hurt to be safe…

"Okay, well wake me up if you start feeling froggy or anything." Dean cautioned, giving Sam a once over one more time. The younger man was still a little pale but other than that he seemed fine; sitting on the other bed, scrolling through the local news website for anything else they needed to take care of before leaving.

Sam smiled slightly. "If I start to feel like Kermit, I'll be sure to croak for you."

Dean nodded. "Good." He reached over, flicking off the light on his side of the room and fell onto the pillow. "Night Sam."

"Night Dean."

**OOOOO**

"Dean…"

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the voice that was interrupting his dream; the Victoria's Secret models wouldn't wait for long…

"Dean…"

The name pierced like a needle into his consciousness and he was instantly awake, knowing that tone instantly. "Sammy?" He sat up, flicking on the light switch and looking across the room to his brother's curled form. "What's wrong?"

Sam opened his mouth to say something but groaned instead, curling a little tighter and keeping his arms wrapped around his stomach. "Ngh…something's wrong…" He gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. He was trembling all over, his face pale and covered in a thin sheet of sweat. His hair was sticking to his forehead in damp, stringy bunches and he was breathing unevenly through his mouth.

In an instant, Dean was on his feet and crouched beside his brother, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "What's going on Sammy? What hurts?" He hadn't asked those questions in that order since Sam was seven.

"Ugh…my stomach…" Sam gasped, another shuddering leaving his body. "I feel like I swallowed napalm…" One hand gripped the blankets like a vice, knuckles white and fingers bloodless from the grip.

"You gonna be sick?" Dean asked, brushing his hand over Sam's forehead and frowning. His body temperature was normal, no fever whatsoever, but the pain was making him sweat bullets and that was almost worse.

"No…I think I-" The words never left his mouth as Sam suddenly jerked away from his brother and threw up on the opposite side of the bed. He gagged, heaving violently and shaking like he was freezing to death in the middle of the hotel room.

"Jesus Sam…" Dean winced in sympathy, waiting until his brother was finished before he tried to move him. Sam made some kind of pitiful noise in the back of his throat and Dean made his move. Without a word, he stripped the younger man of his shirt (he wasn't sure if it had gotten dirty during the episode but he wasn't taking any chances) and tossed his arm over his shoulders. "Come on, Sammy." He said, simultaneously lifting and dragging Sam with him. "Into the bathroom."

Sam didn't protest, not that he had much to say either way, and allowed his brother to drag him into the bathroom, wincing at the harsh fluorescent lighting. He didn't have to worry about it for long as his stomach did another back flip and he broke away from Dean's grasp, falling to his knees over the toilet and emptying the contents of his stomach once more.

Dean clenched his jaw, turning away as his brother retched violently into the bowl. He swallowed back the nausea as he heard the gut-wrenched heaves; he hated when Sam was sick like this, it took every ounce of will power he had not to get sick as well. He'd patched Sam back together countless times, mended bones, wrapped wounds, and everything in between but it never made a difference, he still got grossed out whenever projectile vomiting was involved. Still, he was the big brother, the one Sam always ran to when he was feeling bad and if that meant he had to sit through another long night of Sam puking his guts up then he'd do it without question.

"Hang tight, Sammy. I'll be right back." He said, patting Sam on the shoulder and grabbing his jacket. There was a vending machine right down the hall from their room and he was nearly certain it had Sprite or something along the same lines. Grabbing the room key and shrugging his jacket on over his t-shirt, he slipped out into the hall quietly.

The hotel was quiet, the long halls empty of any signs of human occupancy. It was a cheap hotel, the kind they always stayed in, but it was substantially nicer than some of the others too. This one actually had carpet in the hallways. He found the vending machine and wrestled a few dollars out of his pocket. The rumble of the vending machine was the only noise in the hall, echoing off the walls and humming noisily as it dropped the cans. Dean took the sodas from the machine and tucked them in his jacket, making his way back to the room.

Sam looked worse than when he'd left him. He was curled on one side, his body practically wrapped around the base of the toilet with one arm tossed over his eyes. He was wearing little more than sleep pants and a pair of socks so the cold tile floor pressed to his skin did very little to help with the trembling he'd been experiencing earlier.

"Jeez Sammy…" Dean muttered, walking into the bathroom and dropping to his knees beside the younger man. "Guess you weren't as fine as you thought, huh?" He shrugged his jacket off, draping it over Sam's shoulders to keep him from getting cold. "You puke on my jacket, you die." He muttered, though there was no real threat in his voice.

Sam winced, curling a little tighter and squeezing his eyes closed. "I feel like my stomach turned inside out…" He gasped, rolling just slightly and looking up at his brother.

"Yeah, well I'm sure landing on a witch's kitchen table wasn't the best plan either." Dean popped the tab on one of the soda and passed it to Sam. "Try this, it'll help."

Sam managed a few sips of the drink but couldn't manage to keep it down; shortly after swallowing, it all came back with a vengeance. He gagged, spitting the rancid taste out of his mouth. "Ugh…please just shoot me and get it over with…"

"Sorry Sam, no ammo."

"Bullshit…" The younger man gagged, dry heaving uselessly. "You have a hollow point in your back pocket…"

"Lucky guess." Dean teased, watching as Sam lowered himself back onto the floor and closed his eyes again. There was a brief silence and Sam seemed to relax a bit more, the corded muscles in his back and shoulders sinking into the floor. "You wanna try going back to the bed?" Dean asked, noticing the way Sam's breathing had evened out and he wasn't shaking nearly as bad as he was before.

"Don't think that's a good idea…" Sam mumbled, his voice raspy from throwing up. "Already destroyed one side of the bed…"

Dean shrugged slightly. "We paid the deposit." He looked back at Sam. "But if you want to stay in here, we can."

Sam nodded weakly and rolled onto his back, looking up at Dean. "Hey Dean…?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

The older man shrugged again. "Anytime, Sammy. Anytime."

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**Ack, it just kind of ended O.o I'm really sorry! Hopefully once finals are over I'll be able to concentrate a bit more lol. Hope you guys liked it!! :D**


	22. Ear Ache

**Hey guys! I've gotten so many requests for this fan fic! You guys are awesome! :D I'm going to try to get to all of them because they're all so great and you all are amazing for sending me your ideas! Thank you so much! :D This one is for the always awesome _sammygirl1963 _who wanted to see baby Sammy with an ear ache. Hope you all like it!**

**Also, the olive oil thing really does work O.o I'm not sure why, I don't know if its the heat or the oil or just what but it works like a dream :D**

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John was tired. He had been hunched over a pile of books for the past three days, combing through every piece of information he could get his hands on trying to figure out what had killed his wife. Mary had only been gone about nine months but the pain hadn't lessened in the slightest. Dean was coping better than he expected; the five year old had already made a few new friends in Kindergarten and would chatter away about what they did during the day when he got home. John knew that Dean was aware enough to know what had happened to his mother but he didn't seem to really understand it. He just knew that mom wasn't there anymore and she was never coming back. In a way, John was grateful for the lack of understanding; he wasn't sure how he could explain to his five year old son that his mother had been gutted and pinned to the ceiling of their old home just before it burst into flames. And Sam...well, Sammy was still too young to know anything about that night and John really wanted to keep it that way for as long as he could.

As if sensing his father was thinking about him, Sam stumbled up to the side of the table, tiny hands grabbing onto the side of his father's chair. John looked down and smiled. "Hey there, kiddo." He said, ruffling his son's hair affectionately and turning his attention back to the book in front of him. He was getting increasingly more frustrated with each day that passed with nothing to go on. The thing that killed Mary was quickly falling into Cold Case status...

"Ngh..." Sam mumbled, gripping the chair and pressing his face into his father's leg. He shifted restlessly, whimpering softly into the thick denim of John's pants.

John frowned and looked down. "What's wrong, Sammy?" He asked, reaching down and brushing his hand along his youngest son's cheek. Sam felt unusually warm, not alarmingly so, but enough for him to guess the little boy was running a fever. "Hey..." He leaned down and scooped Sam into his arms, pulling him into his lap and looking at him. "What's the matter, huh? What's wrong?"

Sammy shook his head slowly, one tiny hand covering his right ear. "Hurts..." He mumbled, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with fever.

"What hurts, Sammy?" John asked, hand cupping the little boy's cheek gently. "Your ear? Your ear hurts?"

Sam shifted again, hiding his face in his father's shoulder. He whimpered, keeping his hand pressed over his ear in an attempt to block out the pain.

"Here, let me see..." John took his hand carefully and pulled it away, looking at his ear. "It's okay..." He soothed, keeping his voice soft and low, trying to calm the little boy in his lap. Sam's ear was red, like he had been pulling on it for a while now, and the skin behind his ear felt swollen and warm to the touch. Come to think of it, Sam had been acting a little off the day before as well. He didn't have an appetite and was much fussier than he usually was. Even when Dean was there to play with him, Sam still seemed irritable and antsy. "Aw Sammy..." He whispered, holding the little boy close. "Come on, kiddo, doctor time." He usually tried to avoid going to the doctor unless it was absolutely necessary, it saved a lot of time and trouble on both his and the doctor's parts, but this was different. When it came to his sons he was willing to toss that aside.

Gathering Sam in his arms, he grabbed his keys and made his way to the door. Dean wouldn't be out of school until 2:30 so he had just over two hours to get Sammy to a doctor and figure out what was wrong before he had to go pick him up. Leaving his pile of books scattered across the table, lamp curved over them, he closed the door behind him and walked to the car.

**OOOOO**

Dr. Goldman smiled warmly as Sam was placed on the examination table. "Well, look at you." She cooed, taking in his large hazy eyes and dark hair. "Aren't you handsome?" She reached out and took his hand in hers, rubbing her thumb lightly over the top of his hand. "You must take after your daddy." She tossed a wink over her shoulder at John and grinned back at Sam.

She was very attractive, with strawberry blond hair falling down her back and blue eyes hidden behind black-rimmed glasses. John offered her a weak smile and stayed silent. Not that he didn't appreciate her flirtatious comment but he just couldn't bring himself to return it. Not yet.

The doctor didn't seem to mind though and turned her full attention to the little boy on her examination table. "Okay, Sammy, now I need you to open your mouth really big like this." She opened her mouth wide and laughed when Sam copied her actions. "Good boy." She shined a small light into his mouth and looked at his throat carefully. "Okay, now I'm going to look into your ear." She looked in his left ear and then moved to his right, spending a few seconds longer looking through the otoscope. "Alright, sweetie. You're all done." She nodded over her shoulder and John walked over, scooping Sammy off the table and into his arms.

"So, what's wrong with him?" He asked as she scribbled something onto a pad of paper.

"Nothing more than a simple case of otitis media." Upon seeing his blank look she smiled and continued. "Just a little ear infection, he'll be fine in a few days." She handed him the slip of paper she'd just written on. "Here, I've written a prescription for an antibiotic to clear up the infection, it should clear it up in no time. You can just give him baby aspirin for the pain and fever."

John smiled and nodded, thanking her as politely as he could without giving off the hint that he wanted her number. The doctor seemed to understand and didn't push anything, just smiled at Sammy and waved goodbye as the two left.

The pharmacy next door had the prescription ready by the time they got there and John tucked the white paper bag against the seat. Sam shifted uncomfortably in his car seat, reaching up to cover his ear again. "Don't mess with it, Sammy." John scolded gently, reaching over and brushing Sam's hand away from his ear. He paused, stroking his fingers through Sam's hair in an attempt to ease some of his discomfort. "I know you don't feel good, kiddo." He said softly, keeping contact with his youngest. He looked at the clock on the dashboard, estimating the time. Dean would be out of school in about twenty minutes, he could stand to pick him up a bit early.

Turning the car toward his oldest son's elementary school, he navigated his way down the side streets and into the back parking lot of the school. Unbuckling Sam from his car seat, he scooped him into his arms and got out of the car, walking up to the front door as Sam tucked his face against his father's neck.

The receptionist smiled as the two approached, pushing her glasses up a little higher on her nose. "Hello, can I help you?"

John nodded a bit, shifting Sam so he was a bit more comfortable on his shoulder. "Yes, I'm here to pick up my son, Dean Wilson." The fake last name still sounded strange when he said it out loud; he'd given all of them an alias to go by because he wasn't sure whatever killed Mary wasn't following them in some way.

The receptionist nodded and pressed a button next to her desk that triggered the intercom. "Dean Wilson, please come to the front office. Your Dad is here to pick you up." Letting go of the button, the woman smiled back at John, taking in the sight of the little boy curled against him. "Not feeling too good today?" She asked, looking between Sam and John.

John smiled a little and nodded again. "Yeah, he's got an ear ache." He explained, shifting a little so Sam was facing the woman. "He's felt pretty crappy all morning." He unconsciously winced at the use of the word "crappy" in front of a woman who looked like she worked for a church.

The woman just smiled patiently and shuffled some papers on her desk. "Try using warm olive oil. I do it every time one of my grandkids gets and ear ache and feels crappy."

John smiled and was about to say something else when he heard a tiny voice and the shuffle of feet behind him. "Dad!" He turned just in time to be nearly tackled by and enthusiastic Dean. With a chuckle, he reached down and ruffled his oldest son's short hair. "Hey buddy, did you have a good day at school?"

Dean nodded fervently. "Uh huh, we got to paint today! I painted a dinosaur!" He babbled excitedly, reaching into his backpack to pull something out. He stopped, noticing Sam curled against his dad's shoulder. "What's wrong with Sammy?" He asked, green eyes locking in on his little brother.

John smiled and reached down, taking Dean's backpack from him and swinging it onto his other shoulder. Leave it to Dean to recognize something was wrong with his brother the minute he saw him. "Sammy's just feeling bit under the weather today, kiddo." He said, using his free hand to grab Dean's and lead them toward the door again. "He'll be fine in a day or two." He nodded to the receptionist, keeping the olive oil in mind, and walked them the door.

**OOOOO**

While John stopped at the store to buy a bottle of olive oil, Dean took over for Sam. "Hey Sammy, look..." He reached into his backpack and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "I painted a dinosaur today, you know, one of the really big ones with lots of teeth that go raaahhhh!" He made a roaring sound, smiling with Sammy giggled. "Wanna see?" He held the picture out for his brother to see, laughing when Sam tried to roar like his older brother had just done. It came out as more of a grunt but it was close. "You can have it if you want. I painted two of them." He held up another one, a blue one this time, and giggled when Sam made the same noise.

John slid back into the car, smiling at his sons. "Keeping an eye on Sammy, Dean?"

"Yes sir!" Dean chirped from the back seat, leaving one of the pictures with Sam. "I'm letting him have one of my dinosaurs because he doesn't feel good."

"Well, that was nice of you." John said, pulling out of the parking lot and turning toward their apartment. "Let's get you boys home, huh?"

The olive oil worked like a charm. After giving Sam his medicine, John covered a cotton ball in the oil and microwaved it for a few seconds until it was warm. Almost immediately, Sam calmed down and stopped trying to cover his ear. "Now, don't touch it okay?" He said, putting his youngest son on the couch next to his brother. "Just keep that cotton in your ear, Sammy."

"I'll watch him, dad." Dean spoke up from the other side of him with a grin.

John smiled; he never had to worry about Sam as long as Dean was around. He could here his oldest chattering away to his brother, telling him all about what they did in school and who he played with at recess and everything else he could think of. Sam watched him with wide hazel eyes, completely engrossed in every word his older brother said. Yep, as long as they had each other, they would be alright.

Nearly two hours passed before John realized he could no longer hear Dean's voice, just the sound of the TV flickering with some kind of cartoon. He turned in his seat, looking to see both Sam and Dean asleep on the couch, Sam slumped against his brother and the older with his head resting on top of his. John smiled, pushing the books away and standing. He walked over the couch and sat down beside them, gathering both boys into his arms and leaning back against the arm rest. Dean woke up long enough to give him a sleepy smile before he fell back asleep against his father's shoulder. Sam kept sleeping, curling a little tighter against his father and lightly gripping his shirt. John smiled again, pressing a kiss to the tops of his sons heads and leaning back, closing his eyes.

Mary was gone and he was the only one left to raise these boys, no matter what happened. He wasn't anywhere close to giving up on finding her killer but for tonight, he could push it aside for a little while and just be with his sons.

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**Hope you guys liked it! :D**


	23. Suicide

**Hello all! This if for the always awesome _You'reWrongI'mRight_ who requested angsty/suicidal Sam and what better than S3/S4? Its kinda dark but I hope you guys like it! :D**

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"Sam did what?" Dean nearly spit out his drink, green eyes widening enormously at the older man sitting across from him.

Bobby shook his head slowly. "Dean it-"

Dean was standing suddenly, both palms pressed flat against the cold wood of the kitchen table. He felt like he'd been punched in the stomach, every ounce of strength he had felt like it had suddenly been sucked out of him with a giant vacuum cleaner. "Say it again..." He said, his voice low and deadly.

"Dean-" Bobby tried again but stopped when Dean angrily slammed his hand on the table.

"Dammit Bobby! I come back from Hell less than a week ago and you're telling me that Sam tried to kill himself while I was dead?"

Bobby looked at the table, drumming across the worn wood with his fingertips. He wanted to say something else, anything else, but when Dean had stumbled across the bottle of prescription anti-depressants with a label on one displaying the number for the Suicide Hot line, he couldn't hide it anymore. "Yes." He said finally, his voice resigned and eyes downcast. "Yes Dean, Sam tried to kill himself when you died..."

The words had barely passed his lips before Dean was storming into the other room, eyes blazing and temper palpable. Sam was sitting at the back of the house, pouring over a book and writing down notes occasionally on a piece of paper next to him. He jumped slightly when Dean burst into the room, the door slamming into the wall with his entrance. "Dean?" Sam asked but was cut of when his brother roughly grabbed his hands, jerking them away from the book and flipping them over, inspecting his wrists. His breath caught in his throat.

On both of Sam's wrists, long, white scars criss-crossed up the lengths of his forearms. The scars were corded, raised and angry, meaning they had been deep enough to cause lasting damage to the underlying tissue. For the second time that night, Dean felt like he'd been punched in the stomach.

"What the hell are these?" He demanded, his voice trembling slightly as he looked Sam in the eyes. Sam pulled out of his brother's grip and looked away, unable to meet the older man's gaze. "Sam!" Dean barked, grabbing his younger brother's jaw and forcing him to look at him. "What the hell did you do, man? What the hell did you do?"

"Dean, stop!" Sam yelled, taking a step backward, away from his fuming brother. "Just stop, alright?"

"No!" Dean growled, pushing forward angrily to the point where Sam toppled back into his chair. "No, I'm not going to stop! Sam I died for you! I gave my life for yours and you go behind my back, the minute I'm dead, and try to kill yourself? Jesus Sam! How fucking stupid can you be?"

Sam was shaking a bit, not looking at him. His hands were gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles had gone white and he couldn't meet his brother's eyes.

"God dammit, Sam! Answer me!" Dean snapped, grabbing the sides of the chair and shaking it to get Sam's attention.

"You don't know what it was like!" Sam shot back, finally looking up at Dean with angry tears filling his eyes. "Dean, you have no idea what I went through after you died!"

"I went to Hell for you Sammy!" Dean raged, unable to grasp the fact that his kid brother had tried to take his own life. "I gave up everything so you could live and this is what you do?"

"I never wanted you to die!" Sam shot back, pushing out of the chair and standing to glare at Dean. "I never wanted that! I never wanted you to die for me!"

Dean glared, anger flaring up inside of him. "Don't make me the bad guy here, Sam!"

"I'm not!" Sam snapped, his anger matching that of his brother's. He let out a long, weary breath and shook his head. "I tried everything man...I tried therapy...hunting...drinking...nothing. None of it could take away the guilt!" He was shaking again, trembling so much it was almost hard for him to stand. "Dean, watching you die was the worst thing that has ever happened in my entire fucking life and I saw every single night in my dreams...I heard you scream and saw you get torn to shreds every Goddamn night for two months..." He shook his head, hair falling across his eyes. "Do you have any idea what that's like?"

For a second, Dean was speechless. He shook it away and went back to his angry rant. "What if you had succeeded, huh? What if no one found you and you died, cold and alone in some God-forsaken bathroom? What then Sam?"

Sam just looked down, gripping the edge of the desk again. "At the time, the only thing I could think about was you..." He whispered brokenly, not taking his eyes off the floor.

"If you were thinking of me then you wouldn't have-!" Dean started but Sam cut him off.

"Two and a half months, Dean!" He growled, clutching one wrist tightly. "I was dead for less than 24 hours and you brought me back...you couldn't stand it and you brought me back. But I couldn't...I couldn't bring you back no matter how much I wanted to! I had to live with the fact that you had gone to Hell for me and there wasn't a Goddamn thing I could do about it..." He sighed, slumping into the chair like all the energy had suddenly been taken from him. "I tried so hard Dean...I tried so fucking hard to move on...to live and go back to hunting like we'd been doing earlier..." He shook his head, looking at the floor. "I wanted to find Lilith and cut her into a thousand pieces and resurrect her and do it again...but I couldn't..."

Dean faltered, his anger fading ever so slightly. "Sammy-" He started but Sam cut him off again.

"Dad was hard, Dean...Jessica was even worse...but you? Watching you die? Watching you become a Hell Hound's chew toy? That was worse than any of it...that was worse than anything I've ever felt in my entire life..."

Dean shook his head slowly, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. With barely restrained emotion, he looked up at the ceiling, staring at the tiles blankly. "What did you do?"

Sam slumped even further in the chair, his eyes hidden beneath his hair. "I was tracking this demon one night, about two months after you died, hoping to get a lead on Lilith. When I found him, he started spouting all this stuff about seeing you in Hell, watching them torture you and the things they were doing to you...he showed me..." Sam shook his head as if coming out of a trance. "Or tried to...honestly, I'm not sure anymore...I killed him and left, ended up at some bar, drunk out of my mind..." He faded off for a second, nudging a piece of paper that had fallen on the floor with his foot. "I couldn't handle it man...it made me physically sick...I felt so numb inside, I hadn't felt anything since you died...I felt like everything had been ripped out of me and replaced with cotton..."

Dean listened, the tension in his jaw lessening slightly. He remembered the first time he'd seen Sam after he came back, the way his brother's eyes clouded over with a mix of grief and rage, thinking it was some kind of cruel trick. He'd attacked him with more ferocity than he'd ever seen Sam possess and it scared him. His little brother was like a wounded animal that night, angry and deadly, and truth of the situation only made that realization worse.

"...found a knife somewhere in my bag..." Dean felt himself pulled back to the conversation and out of his thoughts. He forced himself to listen even though the words cut him deeper than any wound he'd ever had. "I was so desperate to feel something...anything..." Sam shook his head again, still unable to look at him. "Honestly, I don't think suicide ever crossed my mind...not at first, at least. The first cut wasn't deep, barely more than a scratch, and the pain was the first thing I had felt in months...I was so dead inside I felt that any kind of pain was worth it. So I cut deeper, feeling the way the blade sliced through my skin and wanting it more...something came over me and I couldn't bring myself to stop until the hilt of the blade was so slippery I couldn't hang on to it anymore..."

Dean swallowed sharply, fighting back the bile in the back of his throat. He felt like he'd just swallowed a mouthful of Clorox.

"One of the hotel employees came in for something...I don't even remember what, an called an ambulance...I ended up in ICU under suicide watch for a week." Sam shrugged helplessly, hands clasped in his lap.

A heavy silence fell between them, neither knowing quite what to say after the confession. It was stifling, the silence hovering over them like a fog. Finally, Dean shook his head, looking down at the floor. "Jesus Sam..." He muttered, trying hard not to get angry all over again. He wanted to be pissed, rage and rant at his brother, but he honestly couldn't bring himself back to the level of anger he felt earlier. When Sam had been killed in Cold Oak, he'd sold his soul to bring him back less than a day afterward. He couldn't imagine life without Sam, didn't want to imagine a life without Sam, and had done the unthinkable to bring him back. He knew how obsessed Sam had been with trying to figure out how to get Dean out of his deal and when he failed, watched his brother die right before his eyes...he knew that had to have been tough.

"I'm so sorry Dean..." Sam continued, his voice subdued in the silence of the room. "I tried so hard...so fucking hard to get on with my life..."

Dean sighed softly, taking a step forward and resting his hand on Sam's shoulder. "I know Sam." He said simply, squeezing his younger brother's shoulder gently. "I know...I know it wasn't easy up here after..." He let the sentence fade; both of them knew where it was going. "I don't plan on going anywhere anytime soon so any lingering crazy you have rocking around in that over-sized head of yours needs to get out." He stopped, raising Sam's head so he was looking directly at him. "Because so help me God, if you ever,** ever** do anything that stupid again I'll kill you myself." He growled; there was no humor in his voice, he was completely serious.

Sam gave him a watery smile and nodded. "Deal.

"No more deals, man." Dean rolled his eyes a bit. "Kinda tired of making deals for a while." He clapped Sam on the shoulder, nodding toward teh front of the house. "Come on man, we have demons to track down..."

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**Yay angsty Sam and pissed off Dean! :D**


	24. Poison Ivy

**Hey guys! Okay, so I got a ton of requests for Poison Ivy; so much so that I can't find all of the requests to give out credit O.o If you suggested this (or think you suggested it) be sure to let me know and I'll give you credit for the idea ^.- Thanks for all the love! :D**

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"It's not funny Dean."

Dean resisted the urge to giggle stupidly. "Yeah it is, Sammy." He quipped from behind Sam's back, watching as his younger brother stripped off his shirt and tossed it to the ground. "Actually, its really freakin' funny."

"Screw you very much." Sam muttered irritably, looking at the inflamed patches of skin on his arms and chest. The spots were swollen and uneven, a harsh red color compared to the rest of his skin. Falling head first into a patch of poison ivy tended to do that to you, especially if you happen to be very sensitive to the plant in question. His arms, neck, chest, and face were covered in red, angry welts that had only continued to look worse as the day passed.

Dean laughed again and shook his head. "No thanks, little brother." He mumbled, walking over and clapping the younger man on one shoulder. "Having one puffed up member of this family is all we need for now."

"You're such a jerk." Sam muttered, brushing any remaining leaves from his jeans and into the trashcan. He was covered in dirt and leaves (some from the poison ivy plant, some not) and all he wanted was a shower. The hunt had gone textbook perfect until he'd taken a face plant into the poisonous plant and, being highly allergic to it, the rash was already beginning to spread. Ignoring his chuckling brother, he grabbed a clean change of clothes and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and starting the shower. Washing off a majority of the irritant should prevent it from spreading any further and frankly, he felt like a shower was the only thing that would help at the moment. He stepped under the warm spray, ignoring the slight stinging itch that accompanied the water hitting the inflamed patches of skin on his upper body. He could feel the dirt and grime washing off his skin, swirling down into the tub and disappearing in the drain. He scrubbed his face, rinsing off the dirt, and turned the shower off. Stepping out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, he noticed a small pink bottle on top of his clothes. He smiled a bit, picking up the bottle of Calamine lotion, and rolling it over in his hands. They'd had it in the first aid kit for years (Sam was crazy allergic to poison ivy, oak, and sumac, all of which they encountered on a pretty regular basis) and it had been used almost to the point of emptiness. Still, there was just enough in there for the night and they could pick some more up tomorrow when they left. Sam poured the pink medicine into his hands and covered the inflamed patches of skin with it, making himself look even blotchier than he had before. With a sigh, he tucked the empty bottle under one arm and stepped out into the hotel room.

Dean was already asleep, snoring softly in the bed closest to the door. The TV was on, flickering faintly against the dark walls, and the news anchors were rattling on about something. Sam turned the TV off, dropping onto the opposite bed and laying back. He shifted a few times, trying to get comfortable even as the rough comforter scratched against his irritated skin. Eventually, he mamaged to find a comfortable spot and closed his eyes, relaxing against the mattress and falling asleep.

**OOOOO**

Dean blinked slowly, looking up at the cracked ceiling tiles, the sun reflecting off the wall beside him. He stretched a bit, sitting up and looking over at the opposite bed. Sam was laying on his back, his eyes still closed; he looked like he was still asleep. "Come on Sammy, rise and shine." Dean said, sliding off the side of the bed and flicking on the lap between their beds. Sam shifted a bit but didn't open his eyes. "Wake up, Sam." Dean said again, walking to the into the bathroom.

He walked out a few minutes later, looking over to see Sam still laying on the bed with his eyes closed. "Sam, wake up man." He said, a little louder this time.

"I am awake." Sam muttered, refusing to open his eyes.

"Okay, well get up and help me pack. We gotta be in Wyoming by this evening."

"I think we have a problem, Dean." Sam mumbled, never moving from the bed and still refusing to open his eye.

Dean frowned, moving closer to the bed. "What are you talking about?" He asked, looking down at Sam. "What's wrong?"

"I can't open my eyes."

Dean's own eyes widened in surprise from the statement. "What?" He leaned over the bed and took a closer look at his little brother, noticing for the first time how red and swollen his face looked. Apparently, either sleeping or the shower the night before had spread the poison onto his face and in his eyes. "Ah shit, Sam..." He mumbled, touching a small space on Sam's forehead that was not covered in angry, red welts.

"Yep, today is starting off well..." Sam mumbled, his eyes completely swollen shut.

Dean looked between his brother and the door, wondering how he was going to get Sam out of the room, into the car, and to a doctor without making things worse. "Okay Sammy, I think a doctor's visit is required." He said, more to himself than anything.

"I agree." Sam said behind him, sitting up slowly.

Dean stopped him with a hand on his chest. "Okay, uh...you just stay here for a second. I'm going to get the bags packed up and put in the back of the car. Don't move, alright?"

"Good plan."

Stepping away from the bed, Dean began gathering Sam's clothes and shoving them in his suitcase. He dropped the rest of his clothing in his own bag, zipping both of them up tightly. Tossing one bag over his shoulder and tucking the other under his arm, he made his way to the door, practically kicking it open and stumbling outside. He shoved them in the trunk, returning to the room to pack up Sammy.

"Okay, Sam, just hang on to me, got it?" He asked, gently grabbing Sam's arm and looping it around his neck, standing slowly.

Sam leaned against him slightly but it was mostly just so he didn't trip over anything when he stood up. "Lead the way, captain." He mumbled, swollen eyes hidden behind his hair.

Dean nodded and with careful, slow steps, they began their trek to the door. "You know Sammy, the flora and fauna of Missouri really hate you." There was a stutter in his step and he barely managed to catch Sam as the younger man's foot came in contact with the edge of the bed and he pitched forward.

Gripping his brother's arm tightly, Sam straightened himself with a wince. "Yeah, well the motel isn't really helping either..." He mumbled, regaining his step and walking along side his brother again.

"Sorry about that." Dean said sincerely, opening the door once more and man-handling Sam through it. He led him to the passenger side door of the car and wheeled Sam in front of it, opening it so he could get inside. The door swung open faster than he expected, however, and the side of it caught Sam in a rather sensitive area. With a startled gasp, he staggered away from the car, doubled over in pain.

"Shit! Sam! I'm so sorry!" Dean said, rushing to his brother's side and putting a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright, man? I'm sorry, I didn't know the door was going to swing open like that..."

Sam manged to regain his breath and shook his head. "Dude, are you trying to kill me...?" He gasped, still doubled over, face hidden behind his hair.

"No Sammy, I'm trying to help." Dean corrected, keeping a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Well, you're failing..." Sam mumbled, straightening a bit. Between tripping him over the edge of the bed and slamming him crotch-first with the door, he wasn't quite sure of his brother's intentions.

Dean chuckled a bit and shook his head. "Alright, quit your bitchin' Cinderella, your carriage awaits." He steered Sam around the side of the door and dropped him into the passenger seat. Sam mumbled something under his breath that Dean couldn't understand and fastened his seat-belt. After he was sure Sam was buckled in completely, Dean walked around to the driver's side and slid in behind the wheel. He slipped the key into the ignition, turned the engine and backed out of the parking lot, making his way to the nearest hospital.

**OOOOO**

"Well, I still think you two need to stay here tonight so we can keep him under observation." The older nurse said, her no-nonsense tone making it perfectly clear what exactly they were doing that night. The doctors had admitted Sam almost immediately, giving him a heavy dose of corticosteroid injections and a regimen of oral steroids to reduce the swelling in his face. It had been a little over an hour and already, the swelling was starting to go down and Sam was able to open his eyes a bit. "Getting poison ivy in your eyes is nothing to take lightly."

Dean sighed slightly and nodded. "Yeah, okay. We'll stay here tonight then." He said, the nurse giving him a stern, approving nod. She walked away, leaving the two of them alone in the room.

Sam was laid out on the hospital bed, his eyes opened to slits. "We're staying here?" He asked when his brother came back in the room.

Dean nodded and fell into the chair beside him. "Yeah, the doctors want to keep you for observation to make sure there's no serious damage to your eyes." He looked at Sam seriously, leaning a bit closer. "Can you see alright? No pain or blurriness?"

"Dean, my eyes were swollen shut from poison ivy...there's a lot of pain and blurriness." Sam answered before turning to face his brother. "I can see alright, its just kinda hard right now." He said honestly, managing a slight smile.

"Good." Dean sighed, leaning back in the chair. "I don't think I could deal with you being blind, man. You're a pain in the ass when you can't see."

"You're a pain in ass when you ram me into the door." Sam shot back, blinking heavily.

"Hey dude, I'm awesome." Dean corrected him. "I could have left you to stumble around the room all by your self."

"You made me trip over the side of the bed!"

"A necessary casualty." Dean smirked a bit though Sam couldn't see it. "Be nice or I'll toss you in another patch of poison ivy the next time we're in the woods."

"Do that and I'll take some back with me and shove it in your boxers at night."

Dean laughed and shook his head, turning on the TV. "Bitch."

"Jerk."

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**Okay, while I've never gotten poison ivy in my eyes, I've gotten it everywhere else we could deem uncomfortable and it was not fun O.o I'm crazy allergic to it too; fun weekend! =P**


	25. Vampires Don't Sparkle

**Hello all! Sorry for the long wait, summer school is kicking my butt O.o Okay, so before I start getting flames or mean comments, this chapter is not directed at Twilight fans. It is kinda based on the hysteria though. With all the craze about vampires lately, I wouldn't be surprised if something like this actually happened to a few unknowing fans who happened to wander into this kind of situation. That said, hope you like it! :D**

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The distant, repetitive beep of a heart monitor is always a frustrating thing to wake up to. Heart monitors usually meant hospitals which meant Dean had broken rule number one of the Winchester hunting manual: never go to the hospital. If he was in the hospital, it could only mean the hunt had taken a turn for the worse. Way worse.

He shifted, his limbs feeling heavy and useless, one of the effects of heavy doses of morphine being pumped into his bloodstream. He'd been pumped full of it enough times to recognize the feeling. There was suddenly a hand on his chest, holding him down against the thin mattress. "Sammy…hey…Sammy, can you hear me…?" The voice sounded far away and muffled, like someone was speaking through a Styrofoam cup.

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking first at the heart monitor and then at the worried face hovering over him. Dean. Of course it was Dean…that's why he felt safe…

Sam blinked again, opening his mouth to say something and stopping when he felt something very similar to a bandage pull against his throat. He frowned in confusion, reaching up to touch it but stopped by his brother's hands. "Easy bro…no pulling at the bandages yet. You got a pretty nasty wound under there and I'm sure the doctors wouldn't be too thrilled to patch you up again if you busted a stitch."

Sam frowned, swallowing convulsively beneath the bandages, and struggled to find his voice. "What happened?" He asked, wincing as the words caused the tape to pull against the tender skin around the wound. Morphine or not, it still freakin' hurt.

Dean looked torn, wanting to tell him what had happened and weighing that option in itself. "How much do you remember?" He asked instead, pulling his chair a bit closer to Sam's bed.

The younger man thought for a second, trying to pick through his drug-rattled mind and recall where they had been and what they had been doing. It seemed like years ago but he knew it had probably only been a day or two.

**OOOOO**

They were in Oregon, he remembered that much, and there had been a string of disappearances involving teenage girls all over the state. The most recent set had happened near Portland, at least two dozen teenagers simply disappearing in a matter of days. They'd been the closest so they took the case, examining the evidence and looking for any kind of clues to the girls' disappearance. There was only one witness, a 15-year-old named Heather Berkley, and she appeared so traumatized by the event that she didn't even make sense when the authorities questioned her. She'd just said the word "teeth" over and over again. She was the first person they went to speak to.

Heather was a pretty girl; long, dirty blond hair held in a messy ponytail and green eyes that were red-rimmed and bloodshot from lack of sleep. She appeared nervous around them, shifting uncomfortably in the plastic chair she was sitting in. Her hands clenched and unclenched on the arms of the chair, her knuckles white and bloodless as they spoke quietly to her, away from her parents and the police and everyone else who was convinced she was crazy.

She told them that she and a bunch of her friends had gone Vampire Hunting, a game that had been developed over the past two years in which the participants go to certain areas that are said to be crawling with vampires. It was more of a game of chicken, see who could go the furthest without getting scared, but some people took it seriously. Sam and Dean knew exactly how serious walking into a coven full of vampires could be.

Heather said she and a group of friends, about four all together, had gone to warehouse located on the other side of cemetery, joking and laughing about the possibility of actually finding a vampire. It had all been a game until one of the girls disappeared into the woods, claiming she'd heard something, and never came back. They went searching for her, finding nothing, and then Heather realized she was all alone. The other girls were gone, taken or hiding, she wasn't sure, but she became frightened and ran back toward the road.

She started crying while she was talking and Sam handed her a box of tissues, waiting patiently for her to continue. It took about five minutes before she could continue her story. She said that on her way back to the road, something had appeared in front of her, faster than she'd ever seen anyone move before, grabbed her. She said the person (and used that term lightly) was pale, with dark eyes that glowed in the moonlight. It had sharp teeth, red and glossy with something that looked like blood, and it tried to bite her. At the very last second, a passing truck happened to catch sight of the girl and honked its horn, startling the creature and dropping her. She ran to the truck, shaken and in shock, and returned to the town.

Dean gave his brother a knowing look and Sam nodded, squeezing the girl's arm comfortingly. They promised they believed her and that they would take care of it but she had to show them exactly where they had been that night. Heather shook her head forcefully, fear in her eyes, and begged them not to make her go back. Dean had stepped in then, assuring her that they wouldn't let anything happen to her and that she could trust them, they were professionals. Dean always was better at convincing women than Sam was and after a few minutes, still unsure of her decision, Heather agreed.

**OOOOO**

"Vampires…?" Sam asked, looking to his brother for confirmation.

Dean nodded slowly. "Yep, a whole coven of them actually. Apparently, the vampire craze has reached new heights and these girls are willingly putting themselves in danger in order to find them." He looked at the wall grimly.

Sam nodded, thinking back to the night in question once more.

**OOOOO**

Heather sat in between them in the front seat of the Impala, bouncing her knees nervously as they drove. Sam tried to calm her down by asking about school, her favorite subjects, what kinds of music she listened to, anything that would take her mind off where they were going. Heather answered all of his questions shakily, her voice trembling as she spoke. Where Dean was good with women, Sam was good with kids and he managed to keep Heather from clinging to the door while they rode to the location she described.

The warehouse was falling apart, the roof caving in and the windows broken out from years of abandonment. It was also clearly inhabited by vampires. Maybe not so clear for anyone who wasn't a hunter, but there were definitely signs. Heather had started to cry again by this point, all of the blood draining from her face and her eyes widening suddenly. Something shadowy wisped around the corner of the building and she clamped both hands over her mouth to keep from screaming.

While Sam stayed in the front seat, trying to calm her down, Dean parked the car and walked around the trunk, rummaging around through the duffle bags and picking out a few weapons of choice. Vampires were tricky, crafty, and worst of all, damn hard to kill. There was no turning back once they went in there. He tapped on the window, holding up a weapon for Sam and nodding for him to get out of the car.

Heather gripped his hand like a vice, terrified to be left alone, but he promised her she would be safe, that they would do everything in their power to protect her.

**OOOOO**

Sam had a sudden sinking feeling in his chest and he looked at Dean grimly. "Heather?" He asked, barely trusting his voice not to crack.

Dean hesitated for a second before answering. "She's okay, Sammy…she was bitten but she'll be okay."

Sam felt like a weight had been lifted off of him and he sank a bit further into the hospital mattress.

**OOOOO**

He could have probably pin-pointed the exact moment the plan went to Hell. It was somewhere between Dean getting tossed out of a window like a rag doll and one of the vampires rushing past him and ripping open the door to the Impala, grabbing a fist-full of Heather's hair and jerking her out of the car. He remembered the vampire sinking its teeth into her shoulder, blood trailing down her arm as she screamed in fear and pain. Without a second thought, he rushed to her aid, knocking the vampire away from her and shoving Heather back into the car. And then it was on him.

He was the last one, the other vampires in the coven had been killed with very little difficulty, but this one was older, stronger, and he was fast. He had Sam pinned against the hood of the Impala before he really knew what was happening and there was a a moment of mind-numbing agony as the sharp, jagged teeth dug into his throat.

Everything became a blur after that. He vaguely remembered the blood gushing over his shirt and jacket, running down either side of his neck and the way his vision pulsed and hazed over as he began to lose consciousness. Dean was yelling his name, the vampire suddenly ripped off of him and killed before it had a chance to strike back. He remembered sliding off the hood of the car, slipping onto the ground and somehow landing in his brother's arms on the way down. Dean was talking to him, saying his name over and over, and his hands were pressed against his throat. The pressure was so intense he felt like he was choking but that might have also been from the blood loss.

He remembered being pulled into the car, his head resting in Heather's lap as he followed Dean's instructions and pressed the sleeve of his jacket into the wounds in Sam's neck. She was crying again, blood oozing from the wound in her shoulder and combining with Sam's blood on her hands. Everything felt far away, a fading memory, and then it stopped.

**OOOOO**

"A vampire used me as a chew toy?" Sam asked finally, gingerly touching the bandages at his throat.

"Yeah, tried to at least." Dean nodded, batting his younger brother's hands away and peeling back the bandages to look at the wounds. "They look a lot worse than they are." He said, and Sam was sure who he was trying to reassure. "Lots of blood but the wounds weren't all that deep." He sat back and gave Sam a smirk. "I told them you were attacked by a poodle."

"You what?" Sam asked, looking at his brother incredulously.

Dean laughed a bit. "Nah, I said it was a dog but I didn't say what kind. Anyway, they believed me." He shrugged a bit and leaned back into the chair. "You're bed-bound for the next three days though."

Sam shrugged as well, even lifting his shoulders hurt, and looked up at the ceiling. "Think Heather's going to be okay?"

Dean nodded and looked at the card she'd left for him on the table. "Yeah, she'll be fine. I think she has a crush on you though." He teased, nudging Sam's hand.

Sam just rolled his eyes. "Think we got all of them?"

Dean paused before shaking his head. "No, I think that was just part of the coven. I think there's probably a lot more hiding out around here. But I told Bobby to contact some other hunters and send them this way to help; I'm too ready to see your throat turned into salsa again, kiddo." He said, patting Sam on the chest lightly.

Sam smiled tiredly and closed his eyes for a second, letting the morphine kill some of the pain. "Still don't understand why those girls wanted to go search for vampires though…" He mumbled, drifting a bit as the drugs began to take their toll.

"Don't know, man."

"Real vampires are ugly. They don't even sparkle…"

"Gay, Sam."

Sam chuckled softly before drifting off to sleep.

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**Hehe, poor Heather...and Sam =p**


	26. Yeti

**Hey guys! Sorry for the long update! O.o This chapter is for _KBBELVIS_ who requested half-drowned/CPR Sammy ^.- Hope you all like it! :D**

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Trudging through the snow and ice with enough firepower to make the Army jealous wasn't a problem. Finding the tracks and laying the traps weren't a problem. Killing the Yeti wasn't a problem (well, it wasn't a Yeti exactly; Yetis don't live in Montana but it was just easier to call it a Yeti. It looked like a Yeti so therefore Dean was going to call it a Yeti). No, the problem came when said Yeti, right before Dean shot it three times with a shotgun, decided to use Sam as a Frisbee and tossed him into the middle of a frozen lake. The ice buckled from the sudden collision and Dean watched wide-eyed as Sam, also wide-eyed, sank and then collapsed into the sub-zero water.

"Sam!" Dean cried, watching in horror as his little brother disappeared beneath the cracked edges of the ice. The creature was lunging for him next, long claws and sharp, jagged teeth aiming for any exposed skin it could get to. It was huge, easily nine feet tall and covered in thick grey fur that was spotted with fresh and dried blood. The thing had manahed to get in a few good hits before the whole "use-Sam-as-a-javelin" thing and both brothers had their fair share of scrapes and scratched from those sharp claws.

Before it could get any closer, Dean aimed and fired twice, hitting the creature once in the chest and once in the stomach. It fell back with a howl of agony, dark blood splashing across pristine snow, and Dean fired again, hitting it between the eyes. The thing had been responsible for the deaths of six campers and was trying to make Sam another victim. Mind racing back to his brother, Dean turned and sprinted across the snow, sliding onto the ice awkwardly and calling Sam's name.

The hole Sam had crashed through was still there though a thin layer of ice was beginning to form over the opening. And worst of all, he couldn't see Sam. "Sam!" Dean yelled again, sliding on his knees next to the hole and slamming the but of his shotgun into the newly formed layer of ice.

The water was dark and inky and it was nearly impossible to see anything in the murky depths. "Nononononono..." Dean breathed, searching the dark water for any trace of his brother, any flash of skin or anything that would give an indication of where Sam had disappeared. There was a dull flash of something a few feet below the surface, flickering out of sight almost immediately. It was red, too red to be any kind of fish but red enough to be Sam's jacket. That was all Dean needed to see before he dove into the frigid water after it.

The cold took his breath away, stabbing at him like a thousand knives, and it was impossible to think. He gasped sharply, preparing himself for the dive, and held his breath, sinking under the water. It was too dark to see and he was left to search with nothing but his hands. He groped and grabbed, searching the black water for any sign of his brother. His hand brushed against something smooth, the silky material of a jacket and he grabbed, wrapping his hand into the material and pulling it toward him. There was an arm attached to the jacket, a suspiciously Sam-sized shape, and that was all Dean needed to see. He turned, kicking to the surface and dragging his limp, ragdoll-like brother along with him.

As his head broke the surface of the water, Dean squinted, turning away from the brightness of the world above. Even though it was cloudy, the reflection off the ice was strikingly bright and stood out in sharp contrast to the dark water below the ice surface. Dean grabbed onto the edge of the ice, pulling himself up with one arm and keeping Sam anchored next to him with the other. His hands slipped and slid against the ice but he was able to gain a grip and pulled, his strength zapped from the frigid water. It took a few painful seconds but he was able to make his way out of the water and onto the ice, dragging Sam along with him.

Dean didn't have to guess to know that Sam wasn't breathing or that the frozen water had likely stopped his heart. His skin was pale, lips a dull blue color, and his eyes were only half-opened, staring blankly at nothing. "Dammit Sam!" Dean growled, unzipping his brother's soaked jacket and positioning his hands on the younger man's too still chest and counting the compressions in a harsh whisper. He held back a wince at how pliable Sam's chest was beneath his hands, the waxy, doll-like appearance of his skin, the dull, lifeless stare...

He paused, leaning down and blowing a mouthful of air into Sam's lungs, watching the slight rise and fall of his chest from the corner of his eye. He checked for a pulse, not surprised when he didn't feel one but still frustrated all the same. "Come Sammy..." He muttered, postioning his hands over Sam's heart again and beginning another cylce of compressions. "Come on..."

He repeated the cycle two more times, each breath and each compression bringning him closer and closer to the brink of despair. "Breathe Sam!" He growled, pressing down on the younger man's chest for what felt like the thousandth time. "Dammit Sammy, breathe!" There was a dull gurgle, like water escaping from a drain, and Sam's body jolted a bit, water streaming from the corner of his mouth. It took a split second for the rest of his body to realize what was happening and suddenly he was coughing harshly, gagging up water in fitful bursts.

"That's my boy...! There ya go Sammy...!" Dean encouraged him, scooping him off the ice and cradling him to his chest, pounding Sam on the back with sharp, forceful blows to get the rest of the water out of his lungs. Sam clung to him, his grip weak from the cold water, but he was taking deep, gasping breaths against Dean's shoulder, holding on for dear life. Dean rubbed his back briskly, trying to pretend the blurry vision was from the water streaming from his hair and into his eyes and not tears. "Just breathe Sammy...deep breaths...that's it..."

Sam was shivering, his teeth chattering so forcefully it was shaking the rest of his body as well. "De-" He started but another fit of coughing broke off whatever he was going to say.

"No talking Sam...just breathe..."

Sam didn't need any more persuasion for that. He leaned against his older brother, drawing in as much heat from him as he could. He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that but it felt like hours.

"Come on Sammy, lets get off the ice rink, huh?" Dean wrapped an arm around his shoulders and helped him stand, supporting more of Sam's weight that Sam was, and half-dragged, half-carried him toward the bank and very dead Yeti. Sam eyed it carefully as they passed but Dean assured him it was completely dead; a bullet to the face was a pretty good insurance policy for that.

It took about ten minutes to get back to the car and by that time a combination of cold and fatigue had completely drained Sam to the point where he could barely keep his eyes open. "No sleeping yet, Sammy..." Dean muttered, opening to the door and dropping his barely conscious brother into the front seat. He jammed the key into the ignition, turning on the car and jacking up the heater as high as it would go. While he was waiting for the car to heat up, he quickly stripped Sam of his icy, wet clothes leaving him in nothing but his boxers. "I'll let you take it from here, kiddo." He teased lightly, grabbing a wad of sleeping bag from the back seat and bundling it around Sam. The younger man was still shivering, his face still and unnaturally pale color, but he looked a bit better than he had when they left the ice.

Dean walked around the the driver's side and slid in behind the wheel just as the first burst of warm air filled the front seat. He stripped off his jacket and shirt, leaving his jeans on, but grabbing a sweatshirt from the backseat and slipping it over his head. It would only take about fifteen minutes to get back into town, he could hold out until then. "You doing okay, Sammy?" He asked, glancing over to Sam who was now leaning heavily against the door, head resting against the window.

"Mm..." Sam mumbled, nodding ever so slightly. Dean couldn't blame him for being exausted; he'd fallen into a frozen creek once before when they were younger and it had taken nearly three days to regain his strength.

"Okay, just hang on kiddo...we'll be hack to the hotel in no time." Dean mumbled, shifting to drive and pulling away from their parking spot, kicking up snow and slush in their wake.

"Hey Dean...?"

"Yeah?" Dean glanced over to Sam, glancing between his brother and the icy road.

"I hate Yetis..."

Dean smirked and nodded, reaching across the seat and patting Sam's leg. "Me too, little brother...me too..."

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**Montana Yetis are the worst O.o Hope you guys liked it! :D**


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